


Tudor Rose

by casuallyhl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Tudor Era, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 73,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyhl/pseuds/casuallyhl
Summary: “We are together now,” Louis whispers. “Nothing will separate us again.”With Louis warm against him, eyes shining brightly, lips red and begging to be kissed, Harry believes him unquestionably.As they fall into one another, Harry and Louis forget the concerns that monopolize the realm. They forget everything that isn’t greedy hands, hungry mouths, and words of love. They forget that they have no right to one another – not when they’re in the king’s palace.Or, a Tudor AU where Harry and Louis are young and betrothed lords in Henry VIII’s court, but when Harry catches the king’s eye, their future becomes as unsteady as England without a male heir.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my last fic. Fittingly, my last fic is one of the first ones I ever started. I began writing this in the fall of 2016 when I was just beginning to write fan fiction and felt like there were a thousand stories I wanted to tell. I had a very promising idea for this story, but as time passed, I really struggled to execute it. I put this fic aside and focused on more concrete ideas or fic exchanges with looming deadlines. But I never forgot about this fic, and I never lost my determination to finish it. Even when fic writing didn't hold the same excitement for me that it once did, I still wanted to finish it. And here it is.
> 
> None of this would be possible without [Rachel](http://scholasticdreamer.tumblr.com/). Thank you for encouraging me right from the start. We created eighteen wonderful fics together, and I am very proud and thankful to have had you by my side during this journey.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read and supported my fics these past three years. Thank you for showing kindness and enthusiasm and helping my confidence in my writing grow. 
> 
> This fic is unbetaed. Any mistakes are my own.
> 
> While this story is based in historical events, the story itself is fictional. Like all my historical fics, homophobia does not exist. Please forgive any historical inaccuracies. The main inaccuracy is that Henry VIII did not move into Hampton Court until 1529, and many of the places featured in the story were added the following years, but I wanted the palace as the dramatic backdrop for my story so I used artistic license.
> 
> Also there is a scene in this fic where the main characters go hunting and an animal is killed. If this is triggering for you, it is very clear when this scene is coming up and can easily be skipped. 
> 
> I owe a debt of gratitude to my main source, A Brief History of the Tudor Age by Jasper Ridley. I also found The Anne Boleyn Files and Tudor Society on YouTube to be very helpful and to provide a nuanced view of Anne Boleyn, which is what I wanted to capture with this story. 
> 
> Here it is - my final fan fic. Enjoy.

_Hampton Court, England. 1526._

The Great Hall of Hampton Court Palace perfectly embodies the decadence and extravagance of England’s king.

The long, narrow room floods with light from the large stain glass windows. Red and purple light reflects off the golden carved, ornate ceiling. The tapestries on the walls tell the story of a great man – the father of humankind – who lived many years before the king, although everyone will adamantly declare that the king is the greatest man of them all.

At the very front of the hall, directly beneath the grandest stained glass window stands the king’s throne. Raised above the rest of the hall on a dais, the throne surveys all who come before it, reminding them that no matter what title or land they may hold, the king is the one who holds all the power.

Such is King Henry VIII’s Great Hall. It testifies to the king’s greatness – undisputed and undeniable.

On a cold day in late February, high born and commoners alike crowd the hall, hoping for a glimpse of their king as the new members of the court pledge themselves to the king’s service.

It is no secret within the kingdom that the king desires both women and men, and the country’s richest and most beautiful have come to present themselves to their king to serve in his court.

“Who next?” the king asks one of his stewards.

The steward checks his list of names, then announces, “Lord Harry Styles of Cheshire.”

A young man, no older than twenty, steps forward from the crowd. At the sight of the young and attractive face, the king sits up straighter.

Lord Harry Styles wears a green doublet with a brown jerkin on top, the sleeves of his doublet richly embroidered in a floral pattern. The doublet brings out his green eyes, making them appear as emeralds. On top of his chocolate colored curled rests a lopsided cap. He smiles shyly, but dutifully keeps his eyes lowered and remains silent, waiting to be spoken to.

The king examines Lord Harry closely, as the entire room holds their breath as they wait for the king’s assessment.

Smirking slightly to himself, the king leans back in his grand chair. “Lord Harry?” he asks in a voice that does not leave room for disagreement.

Through his eyelashes, Lord Harry looks up. “Yes, Your Majesty?” His voice is deep, and his words crawl out of his mouth slowly, almost as if he is hesitant to let each one go.

The king smiles. “It seems the most beautiful boys are kept in Cheshire. Perhaps I should travel north more often.”

Lord Harry returns the king’s smile. “I am sure the people of Cheshire would welcome their king with grand assembly. He is as adored in Cheshire as he is in London and throughout the realm.”

“Your words are as pleasing as your appearance,” the king muses. “Tell me, Lord Harry: how do you like to spend your time? What amuses you?”

“I am a great lover of music,” Lord Harry replies. “I am trained in the lute, although I am sure my skills pale to Your Majesty’s.”

“You will have to play for me some time,” the king replies. “You must have a very pleasing singing voice.”

Lord Harry grins shyly. “My mother always said that if I hadn’t been born a lord, I would have made for an excellent minstrel.”

The king laughs heartily at this, causing the rest of the hall to break into laughter. Nothing is amusing unless the king is amused. Because the king laughs, so does everyone in the Great Hall.

Except for one.

A man standing to the side of the hall rolls his crystal blue eyes. Despite his apparent annoyance, a small smile tugs at his lips as he watches the young lord continue to flatter the king.

“You are welcome in my court, Lord Harry,” the king says, looking at Lord Harry as if he were a defenseless animal the king was hunting. “I hope you can make this palace your home.”

“I live to serve my king,” Lord Harry responds dutifully, bowing deeply. 

As Lord Harry steps back to the crowd, green eyes meet blue. A wicked smile passes across the room, private and unnoticed despite the large numbers of people.

But the shared look is only a fleeting moment as the king dismisses his newly established court.

Lord Harry Styles may be the newest member of King Henry VIII’s court, far away from home and without his family for the first time, but he is far from alone.

“My darling, let me hear you,” Lord Louis Tomlinson gasps as he snaps his hips back and forth. His head is thrown back, his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his neck, his forehead.

Harry moans breathlessly, his knuckles white as he squeezes Louis’ hands to his chest. He clings to Louis tightly as if he is the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Harry holds him close to feel their bodies moving together, finally joined the way they are supposed to be, after so long apart. Louis leans over Harry, and Harry opens his mouth greedily to breathe in Louis’ air. He wants to taste the sweet breath of life that comes from the man he loves. For the same air to keep both their bodies alive, to keep them moving together in perfect synchronization.

“Louis,” Harry whispers like a prayer, too overwhelmed to cling to anything but the name of his beloved. “Louis, my love.”

Louis presses his face into Harry’s neck, biting kisses into the skin. Harry shakes with pleasure, and he feels Louis tremble above him. They are both ricocheting rapidly towards the climax of their pleasure, and Harry wishes for them to fall together.

“Touch me,” Harry begs, his voice deep and raspy.

Louis moans, his movements turning erratic, his kisses becoming wet exhalations.

Despite his request, Harry is reluctant to release Louis’ hand so that he can slide it in between their two bodies. However, it is a small sacrifice to pay at the feeling of Louis hand wrapping around his aching length.

“Louis,” Harry cries out, back arching off the bed at the feeling. “My love, I am so close.”

“Me too,” Louis replies, kissing Harry’s chin, his jaw. He pauses at Harry’s lips, and they breathe one another in. “Let us come together.” Louis twists his fist, causing Harry to squeeze his eyes shut and roughly bite his bottom lip. “Together,” Louis whispers again, kissing Harry’s eyelids. “As we are meant to be.”

With Louis’ hand and Louis’ touch and Louis’ words surrounding and filling Harry, he is helpless to let go.

Together, Harry and Louis fall, their bodies shaking with boundless pleasure. Together, words of love and promises of forever pour from their lips. Together, they are joined, heart and body and soul, as nature and God intended.

It has been a year since they have been joined in this way, so completely and perfectly. As Harry’s body trembles with pleasure, he feels overwhelmed, like a small ship engulfed in a raging tempest. He is overwhelmed with sexual pleasure, but also with the much deeper pleasure of being reunited with his love.

“I missed you so much,” Harry breathes, placing his hands on either side of Louis’ face so that he can kiss him deeply. Louis kisses him back eagerly, and Harry loses himself in the kiss.

“I missed you, too,” Louis whispers. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I’ve dreamed of this every night since I left you, but this is so much better.”

“I know,” Harry replies. He kisses Louis’ neck, licking at his sweat. Louis moans softly, then carefully pulls out. Harry clenches instinctively at the loss, but the way Louis curls into his side, placing kisses on his neck makes him hum contentedly.

It has been a year since they have seen one another, but Harry’s heart has belonged to Louis for over three years.

Harry and Louis met when they were young lords, both growing up in the lap of luxury and knowing that they would someday inherit their respective estates.

Harry first met the future Earl of Doncaster when he was seventeen. He had been instantly enchanted by Louis – his soft voice, his easy confidence, his kind heart, and his bright, bubbling laughter. Harry was helpless to fall for Louis, and he looked for any excuse to spend time with him. Harry’s father was pleased when Harry offered to attend to any business involving the Tomlinson’s estate. His father believed it was Harry finally showing interest in his future, but really, Harry just wanted any excuse to catch a glimpse of Louis.

To Harry’s surprise, Louis had seemed just as enchanted. Louis always smiled brightly whenever Harry came over, asking him if he wanted to take a walk in the gardens or go riding on the moors. They would spend hours together, talking about their families, their shared trepidation of someday becoming earls, and their loves of books and music. Louis would tell Harry story after story while they lied in the grass by the pond, Harry listening to the cadence of Louis’ voice as much as he listened to the story.

Each night when Harry would lie down to sleep, he would will the sun to rise quickly so that he could sooner see Louis the following morning.

Over a year after they first met, Louis first kissed Harry one day after a horse ride through the forest. They had stopped by the pond to let their horses rest and decided to go for a swim. They had shed their clothes, but hid their bodies bashfully under the water. Nevertheless, the sight of slippery, touchable skin was too much for either man. Louis had swum over to Harry without a thought, and running his hands all over Harry’s chest and torso, had kissed him.

Harry kissed him back with the intensity he had been feeling for months: the intensity that stemmed from the undeniable truth that he was in love with Louis. Harry had lifted Louis into his arms, carried him to the shore, and made love to him against the grass.

They loved one another with the kind of ferocity that only comes in youth, but their fire did not burn out as time passed. If anything, it strengthened. They left behind the innocence of youth as they took on more responsibilities with their estates, shaping into the men their families expected and their titles required them to be.

They planned to marry and unite their houses, but their plans were cut short.

When Louis was twenty-one years old, the king requested his presence in the court. Being invited to the king’s court was an honor impossible to refuse. Refusal would be detrimental to one’s family and their future.

The king usually required the young lords to come to his court for a few years before they returned to their homes to continue their duties. But this was only a small consolation to the two lovers.

Louis left reluctantly, clinging to Harry and crying against his neck when it was time to leave.

“I promise I will stay true to you,” Louis whispered as Harry held him tightly. “I love you, and I will wait for you. However long it takes for us to be together, I will wait.”

Harry had been unable to reply, simply nodding and pressing his mouth firmly against Louis’ in one final wet, desperate kiss.

“I love you, too,” Harry had managed to choke out. “I will be true.”

Over a year later, Harry received his invitation to court. He wasn’t able to leave Cheshire and travel down to London quick enough.

Just as they promised, both Harry and Louis had remained faithful to one another during their time apart.

Now they both enjoy the feeling of being together again after so long, warm skin pressed together while trading lazy kisses.

“I kept every one of your letters,” Louis says. “I’ve missed life up north so much.” He smiles contentedly at Harry. “Although I miss it quite a bit less now that you’re here with me.”

Harry grins and kisses Louis slowly. “You are greatly missed at home. I visited your family before I made the journey south, and they were sure to send their love.”

Louis’ eyes light up at the mention of his family, and it reminds Harry of the young Tomlinson sisters’ excitement at Harry going south, knowing he would see Louis. They planted multiple kisses on Harry’s cheeks, telling him to deliver those kisses to their adored older brother. In addition to the kisses, each sibling asked Harry to take Louis a gift: Charlotte, a letter; Félicité, a book she wanted to discuss with him; and Daisy and Phoebe, embroideries they had done themselves of their family crest. Harry knows Louis will treasure each present.

“Any news from home? How are my sisters?”

“They are well,” Harry replies, “except for how much they miss you. I visited them often, and we always talked of you. I think it helped all of us.”

Louis smiles. “That’s lovely to hear. I talked about you to my friends every time I missed you too much; so they are exhausted from hearing about you.”

“Well, that’s not how I want to start at court,” Harry teases, “with everyone already annoyed with me.”

“Nonsense. They’re excited to meet you,” Louis replies confidently. “I think you’ll really like them as well.”

“I look forward to meeting them. I was so worried when you left that everyone you would meet would be self-seeking and elitist. I can’t tell you how thankful I was when your first letter arrived saying that you felt as if you’d already made lifelong friends.”

“Me too,” Louis replies earnestly. “I really am lucky, because life at court really can be like that.”

Harry nods slowly. “Is it pleasurable? The rumors up north are that the king is frustrated and unhappy, and I could imagine that reflects on the court.”

Neither Harry nor Louis needs to say why; the whole kingdom knows. Queen Katherine is supposedly long past the age to bear children, having only one surviving child (disappointingly, a girl) after seven total pregnancies. As well, she is rarely seen in court anymore, choosing instead to pray and spend time with her daughter Mary.

It is imperative for the king to have a male heir to ensure the crown is secure, and with each miscarried or stillborn child, not only the king and queen, but the entire realm grows more and more worried. Years have passed without another royal pregnancy, and while it is never spoken aloud, everyone knows it means the queen has failed at her royal duty. Without a male heir, England’s future is tenuous and unstable.

Harry can imagine that such a great matter would make the king stressed and disagreeable. The court feeds off the king’s moods, no one allowed to be joyful if the king feels morose.

“Life at court can be pleasurable,” Louis answers carefully. “I think it all depends on the company one keeps. I spend my days in the gardens or at the tennis court or in the library. I am not constantly lobbying to the king for wealth or titles for my family. I am not constantly fretting over who I associate with and how my connection with them could benefit or harm me. I know this life is not permanent for me; my home and life is up north with you.”

Harry smiles, running his fingertips lightly over Louis’ arm to watch him shiver. “Our home is up north, but I am glad we are here together. I think I will stick with you and just try to enjoy myself.”

“Good,” Louis grins devilishly. His hands drift lower on Harry’s body, playfully cupping him as Louis gives Harry a quick kiss. “And if you decide you aren’t enjoying yourself, I can always make sure to do something about that.”

Harry laughs, pushing Louis away before pulling him in immediately for a smiling kiss.

“Have you ever spent time with the king?” Harry asks, his curiosity still unquenched.

Louis makes a face. “Not really; at least, never a private audience. We discussed the search for a western passage to India during a banquet once. He is intrigued by the idea of western exploration, but has never funded any expeditions like his father did.”

Harry smiles at the excitement in Louis’ voice at the mention of exploration. Harry knows that he is Louis’ deepest love, but if he had a competitor for that title, it would be Louis’ love of exploration. Louis’ beloved uncle had accompanied the Venetian explorer John Cabot on his second voyage across the sea when they discovered new lands while searching for old ones. Louis had grown up on his uncle’s stories, and a desire to see and discover the world is rooted deep within him. When their friendship first began, Harry and Louis would spend hours poring over Louis’ well-worn maps. Louis would read from explorers’ diaries and they would trace the routes along the maps. Harry would listen, enraptured, as Louis spun tales of tales of cities on the other side of the world where the people spoke languages very different from their native tongue, where the sun was hot and bright every day of the year, and where the fruit was sweet and the vegetation was rich.

“Do you think the king would fund an expedition?” Harry asks excitedly. He knows it is one of Louis’ ambitions to fund an expedition to find a Northwest Passage, and if the king decided to do so, nothing would mean more to Louis.

“I don’t know,” Louis admits. “The realm is in such a tenuous place right now without a male heir, and I have noticed that the king is more and more distracted as of late. I’ve heard that producing a male heir is his greatest priority, and that everything else must wait.”

Harry nods slowly. “But he is the king, and kings always produce great sons,” Harry replies with the kind of reckless certainty that comes with youth. “I am sure it is only a matter of time before he has the male heir that will continue his legacy.”

Louis looks unconvinced, but doesn’t say so. To speak against the king is forbidden. To doubt his ability to produce heirs is treason.

“Well, there is nothing we can do about that,” Louis says neutrally. “I am just so happy you are here. And even if the court is a bit despondent because of the king, I am nothing if not overjoyed at having you here with me again.”

Harry smiles widely, his cheeks warming at Louis’ sweet words and easily forgetting their serious discussion from only a moment ago. Harry has been a year without his lover; he doesn’t desire to discuss anything outside of these four walls anymore.

“I am so happy, too, my love,” Harry replies softly. “I love you so much.”

“We are together now,” Louis whispers. “Nothing will separate us again.”

With Louis warm against him, eyes shining brightly, lips red and begging to be kissed, Harry believes him unquestionably.

As they fall into one another, Harry and Louis forget the concerns that monopolize the realm. They forget everything that isn’t greedy hands, hungry mouths, and words of love. They forget that they have no right to one another – not when they’re in the king’s palace.

Harry quickly settles in at Hampton Court.

It’s impossible not to with Louis by his side. Harry could journey to the New World, but as long as Louis was with him, it would still feel like home.

Despite Louis’ warnings about the king’s great matter, Harry finds life at court immensely pleasurable. Harry quickly learns who the people are who are only at court to gain the king’s favor, and thus be rewarded with land or titles. Those lords and ladies are perpetually at the king’s side, laughing at his jokes and seeking to fulfill his every wish. Harry remains distant from those lords and ladies, instead choosing to play tennis or go on walks in the garden.

Lavish meals are served every day in the Great Hall that has Harry drinking and laughing into the late hours of the night. Harry has been fortunate enough in his life never to go to bed hungry, but at Hampton Court, Harry doesn’t believe he has ever tasted such rich and fine foods. Delicious food and strong ale seemed to flow endlessly from the kitchens so that Harry’s plate or cup was never empty.

The court never fails to provide some form of lively entertainment as well. The finest stage players, dancers, and singers from not only England but all over Europe come to Hampton Court to perform before the king and queen. Harry loves to watch the stage plays, but he especially enjoys the masques, or plays with music. He loves singing the songs and watching the players dance. After an especially good masque, members of the court will be singing the songs for days after, and Harry learns some of the songs on his lute to entertain his fellow lords and ladies in waiting.

Dances are as commonplace as fine music at Hampton Court. Often after supper, when members of the court are already feeling loose-footed from that evening’s ale, Harry dances until his feet are sore. Sometimes he dances with Louis, but sometimes he dances with other lords and ladies of the court, making friends as they danced more distinguished dances like the pavane or more energetic and daring dances like the volta.

As Louis predicted, Harry strikes up immediate friendships with Louis’ two closest friends, Lords Liam Payne and Niall Horan. Harry meets them on his second day at Hampton Court as he and Louis dress in the morning with the assistance of their footmen. The footmen are discreet and say nothing about how Harry’s footman John had to be specifically sent to Louis’ room instead of Harry’s own.

They are almost finished dressing when someone bangs on the door loudly and rapidly, causing Harry to jump.

“Louis!” yells a man. “You have ten seconds to open this door before I break it down!”

Harry’s eyes widen in horror, wondering if he and Louis are about to be attacked. But when he looks over at Louis, he sees Louis smiling brightly, shaking his head with laughter. He catches Harry’s eye, and when he sees Harry’s horrified expression, he only laughs harder.

Louis walks to the door, and Harry can see him trying to school his expression before he flings the door open. He places his hands on his hips and says exasperatedly at the two men standing at the door, looking expectantly inside, “Did you really want your first impression on Harry to be quite so aggressive?”

One of the men shrugs, looking past Louis to give Harry a cheeky smile. “I thought the only way to break you two apart would be through threats.”

Harry’s cheeks flame, but Louis rolls his eyes fondly as he looks over at Harry.

“Harry, these idiots are my two best friends, Niall Horan and Liam Payne.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” the man who had spoken earlier says. He has a thick Irish accent and light brown hair. “I’m Niall.” He holds his hand out to Harry, and when Harry takes it, Niall shakes his hand firmly. “Sorry if I gave you a bit of a fright. Louis hasn’t been able to stop talking about you, so I just wanted to give him a bit of a hard time.”

“It’s alright,” Harry replies. In his desire to make a good impression on Louis’ friends, Harry teases, “I thought it was about time for Louis to be taken off to the Tower anyways. It’s been a long time coming.”

Louis scoffs indignantly, but Niall roars with laughter, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

“For the record,” the other man says, stepping past Louis and into the room. “I was against the idea. The only reason I wasn’t able to stop him is because Niall tripped me in the stairwell and then ran down the hall before I could do anything.” The man dusts down his jacket, as if he is still recovering from his fall, before holding out a hand to Harry. “Liam Payne, lord-in-waiting to the King of England.”

Harry shakes his hand, but watches as Niall and Louis roll their eyes simultaneously.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself like that, Liam,” Louis says with faux-annoyance. Harry recognizes Louis’ teasing tone, which is only confirmed when Louis catches Harry’s eye and winks at him.

“It’s my proper title!” Liam protests.

“That may be,” Niall acquiesces, “but do you really think it is the best summary of who you are? I think it would be better if you introduced yourself as Liam Payne, lover of dogs and large hats with plumes on them.”

Harry grins and says, “I like large hats, too. I brought quite a few of them here. I hope I’ll have a chance to wear them.”

Louis smiles fondly at Harry, and his stomach flutters.

After their initial meeting, Harry is inseparable from Liam and Niall.

Harry learns that Liam has been at court for over three years, the longest of any of them. Both Liam and his family were surprised when Liam received his invitation to court, as their status was not so great that it was expected. Liam didn’t think he would be at court for more than a couple of months, but his steadying presence and keen enthusiasm for sport quickly caught the king’s eye. Liam modestly tells Harry that the king always requests Liam play tennis with him, as Liam always gives the king a fair challenge.

As for Niall, his invitation to court was not one of pleasure, but of diplomacy. Niall is a member of the FitzGerald family, the Irish-born rulers of Ireland chosen by the English. The situation in Ireland is tumultuous at best, and Harry learns that while Niall is a fun-loving and jovial man, his job at court is to juggle with fire. The Irish want the English out of their country, but the English want to rule Ireland. Niall is at Hampton Court in search of a compromise and a solution.

“I want an independent Ireland,” Niall tells Harry one day as they walk in the gardens. “My family may rule, but we only have that position because the English gave it to us.”

“Would your family still rule if Ireland became independent?”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t know, but if it means we are free from the English, then I would gladly step down.”

Harry nods, amazed at Niall’s patriotism. “Do you think Irish independence is likely?” Harry asks tentatively.

Niall doesn’t answer for a moment, contemplative as they walk. Harry watches as a herd of deer graze in one of the palaces far meadows by the river. The icy ground crunches beneath his feet as he walks.

“I don’t think it is,” Niall admits quietly. “At least not in my lifetime. I’m here to find a compromise, a solution. Ideally, it would be independence, but I want to be realistic.”

Harry nods in understanding. He’s never before paid much attention to the situation with Ireland, but he promises his friend that he will do whatever he can to help him.

However, the best part of being at court is, of course, Louis.

After over a year without Louis, Harry feels joy in each day he spends with him. They wake up next to one another every day, sometimes wiling away the morning lazily in bed. Louis shows Harry around the palace with childlike enthusiasm, showing him the library and the tennis court, and his favorite place in the gardens to sit when it’s summertime.

Harry feels as if he is newly in love with Louis. He follows Louis helplessly around the palace, endeared by all his jokes and savoring all his attention. Any worry that Harry had about them growing apart during the past year is unfounded. Harry will sometimes catch Louis staring at him with awe in his eyes, as if he too is unable to believe that Harry is with him, that they are finally together again. Harry feels the kind of great, abounding joy that only comes with being young and in love, and having the security of knowing that he is loved back just as fiercely.

Sometimes, Harry’s emotions become too much for him, and he has to steal Louis away to a secluded corner in the palace, press him against the wall, and kiss him until their mouths are red and bitten.

Louis may be the center of Harry’s life at court, but for everyone else, the center of the court is the king.

As Harry expected, he spends very little time with the king, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t harbor a fascination for the great man.

On his first afternoon at Hampton Court, Harry gasps aloud when the king and queen enter the Great Hall for the afternoon meal. Everyone stands at their entrance, and Harry rises hastily and clumsily in an effort to show his respect. Louis, Liam, and Niall all chuckle at Harry’s wide eyes and gaping mouth.

“What?” Louis teases as they take their seats again. “Did you expect them to sit in their rooms and eat all their meals by themselves?”

Harry wants to nod his head adamantly. Yes, that’s exactly what he expected. The king and queen are casually dining just a couple tables over from Harry. Harry, who despite his titles and lands, feels like an insignificant nobody in the king’s presence. Surely this isn’t an everyday occurrence?

Harry watches as the king sits at the head table, greeting the lords who are fortunate enough to be considered his closest confidantes. The queen smiles at the lords before sitting next to several of her ladies-in-waiting.

Harry glances around the hall to see if anyone else is as intrigued as he is to see the king and queen dining with them. While some lords and ladies cast curious glances towards the front of the room, the majority carry on with their meals as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

“Wait until I write Gemma about this,” Harry whispers to Louis.

Louis laughs under his breath. “Because I’m sure during your sister’s three years at court, she never dined in the same room as the king and queen.”

“Hush,” Harry tells Louis. “I’m excited. This is all so new to me, even if it’s boring to you.”

Louis’ face softens before pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. “It’s not boring to me. I was just as amazed when I first came to court, too. I love seeing how excited and happy you are.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as Louis continues his meal.

Harry tries to follow Louis’ lead, to focus on Niall’s stories and Liam’s reactions, but he can’t help but cast the occasional glance towards the king and queen.

The king is as young and handsome as the stories up north say. He seems enchanted by the lords at his table, laughing so loud sometimes it feels like the room shakes with it.

The queen, in contrast, sits quietly at his side. Queen Katherine didn’t attend the ceremony where Harry was introduced to court, so it is his first time seeing her. She is a beautiful woman, with dark skin and hair. A crucifix hangs around her neck, catching the light coming through the windows. Throughout the meal, she and the king do not talk. When the queen speaks, it is to the ladies next to her. They speak quietly and briefly, as if they are discussing the queen’s schedule for the day or commenting on the weather.

When the king and queen finish their meals, everyone stands again as they exit.

The room seems to lighten after the king and queen’s departure, as if the court breathes a collective sigh at no longer being in the royal presence. Harry understands. The king did not once look his way during the meal, but Harry couldn’t help but feel under intense scrutiny while the king and queen were in the hall. It was as if he made a mistake, the king and queen would see it.

“Anyone in the mood for a game of cards?” Niall asks, pulling Harry from his thoughts. “I’m feeling lucky today.”

Louis snorts, pushing his empty plate away. “Sure. Whenever you’re feeling lucky, I always go home with a heavier coin purse.”

“That’s not true at all,” Niall stage whispers to Harry. “He’s gambling away his dowry.”

Harry guffaws as Louis protests loudly.

“It’s alright, love,” Harry says through laughter. “I’ll still marry you even if you’re poor.”

Louis rolls his eyes as if he does not appreciate Harry’s sacrifice, but as they head upstairs, he takes Harry’s hand in his and kisses his cheek. Harry smiles and thinks to himself that he is going to like living at court.

Spring comes gradually to Hampton Court. 

The frost on the trees turns to shyly budding flowers. The wind blowing off the river no longer feels like a fine knife slicing through the air, but instead is comfortable while in the warming sun. 

Harry spends the days walking in the gardens with Louis, fingers intertwined. The grounds of Hampton Court seem infinite, and there is always a new corner to explore.

Sometimes Harry likes to wander outside on his own. He'll take a book or his lute and sit near the fountains and wile away the hours. He'll write letters to his sister Gemma, telling her his thoughts and impressions of court life, the king, and the south. Gemma was one of Queen Katherine's ladies-in-waiting before she married a baroness and moved to Norwich, so he knows she understands his shock and amazement at experiencing royal grandeur.

Gemma writes back with fondness, telling Harry how pleased she is that he is enjoying life at court and being back with Louis once again.

However, her words also contain a warning that echoes what Louis told Harry on his first night. “Court can be a dangerous place,” Gemma writes to him, “with people only seeking to serve themselves. Be careful not to become one of them.”

Harry writes back that his sister need not fear, and tells her instead about the masque that performed at court the night before.

One day in mid-April, Harry is strolling idly through the gardens. The sun is warm, soaking through his clothes and into his skin. The fragrant smell of the budding flowers fills the air, and Harry can hear the gentle cascading of the nearby fountains. 

Harry had asked Louis if he wanted to accompany him on his walk, but Louis declined. Niall had an impending audience with the king, and he wanted to discuss his ideas with Louis that afternoon. Harry had smiled, given Louis a kiss, and told him he'd see him at supper. 

He hums a song to himself, something he heard the other night during a stage play. The players had danced amongst the court, encouraging them to sing and clap along. Harry, tipsy on strong wine and the weight of Louis leaning into his side, had laughed and clapped and joyously sung along. The king as well seemed to especially enjoy the music. His rich voice filled the hall, a beautiful tenor mixing splendidly with the players' enthusiastic singing. 

In the midst of his singing, Harry suddenly hears quickened footsteps behind him. He turns in surprise, but his surprise quickly turns to delight as he sees Louis coming towards him. 

“I thought you were supposed to be with Niall?” Harry calls with a smile in his voice as Louis gets closer. 

“I was,” Louis says. He stops when he gets close to Harry, his breathing heavy from his fast pace. “But Cardinal Wolsey needed to speak with him, and the king's chief advisor takes precedence over little ole me, so,” Louis shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “I thought I'd come find you.”

Harry smiles and gives Louis a kiss. “I'm glad you did. But I hope Cardinal Wolsey visiting Niall doesn't mean trouble for him.” 

“He'll be alright,” Louis replies distractedly. He leans forward to give Harry another kiss, this one lingering. Harry can taste English honey on Louis' lips, and Harry dips his tongue inside Louis' mouth to follow the sweet taste.

“You know,” Louis slurs between slick kisses. “The whole court is in the hall watching those dancers from Scotland.”

“Hm,” Harry replies absentmindedly, pressing deeper kisses to Louis' mouth.

Louis giggles, pushing Harry away. Harry feels dazed as he steps clumsily away from Louis, but Louis clutches his hand tightly.

“Come on,” Louis says. His lips are red and his eyes are bright. “There's been something I've been wanting to do since you arrived at Hampton.” 

Without another word, Louis tugs on Harry's hand and they begin to run down the path. Harry follows blindly and unquestionably, his grip tight on Louis' hand.

They round into the north side of the gardens, deeper into the wilderness and moving further and further away from the palace. 

“Where are we going?” Harry giggles, feeling as if sunlight is reflecting off of Louis, striking Harry in the chest and running through his veins.

Louis doesn't answer, just tugs his hand along the path until they stop alongside a long hedge.

“What's this?” Harry asks, breathless from the exercise and the excitement.

“The maze,” Louis replies with a lopsided grin. “I first came here not long after I arrived at court, and I couldn’t help but think of you. It's the perfect place to hide away with the one you love for a couple of hours without being found.”

Harry matches Louis' smile as understanding blossoms. With a renewed excitement, Harry tugs on Louis' hand, now leading him as they run into the maze.

Harry pulls Louis along, darting along the path and taking turn after turn until they are lost in depths of the maze.

They eventually reach a dead end, a concealed, private corner. With a pleased grin, Louis pulls Harry into him and together they fall, fall, fall. 

Their bodies twine together like the vines and the branches surrounding them. Twisted together so intimately, so completely that they can never be separated. That they become unquestionably one.

Their kisses are wet and deep, as if they didn't just spend the previous night wrapped in each other's arms, skin on skin. But the feeling of months apart still lingers, and the enthusiasm of youth makes Harry feel as greedy and infatuated as his first night reunited with Louis two months ago.

“I always thought of taking you here,” Louis murmurs, kissing down Harry's neck. His fingers dig into Harry's thin white shirt, and Harry gasps at the pleasurable sting. He imagines the shape of half crescent moons pressed into his back, an undeniable mark of his lover's desire to hold him close. “Hiding away with you, touching you.”

“I thought about hiding away with you, too,” Harry sighs, eyes shut in bliss as Louis kisses his neck. “I would go to our spot by the river where we first kissed. I would fall asleep in the grass and dream about you finding me there and waking me up with kisses.”

Louis exhales shakily against Harry's neck before tilting his head up again to catch Harry's mouth in a deep kiss. “In the summer,” Louis whispers breathlessly, “when it's warmer, I'll make love to you in the grass by the river.”

Harry moans, rubbing his hips against Louis' in a desperate plea. “Yes, my love, please.” 

“Whatever you desire,” Louis promises. 

Harry kisses Louis back, words of love and heartfelt promises shared in each kiss. They are so lost in one another, they don't hear approaching footsteps.

“Oh my goodness!”

Harry and Louis spring apart, the shock of being found washing over them both like a flood of cold water. Harry's hands immediately fly to his waist, attempting to conceal his erection. He knows he looks debauched – hair mussed, glazed eyes, and shiny, bitten lips – so there was no question of what they were doing. There is no way they could pretend like they were doing something else. Harry’s heart beats erratically from the surprise, but it speeds up in a different way when he realizes who found them.

Lady Anne Boleyn.

It is a known fact that Lady Anne is the most beautiful, intelligent, and exciting woman in court. Harry has only ever seen her from a distance and has never had the honor of making her formal acquaintance. As she stands before him, Harry can easily see why she is considered the most imposing woman in court. Lady Anne holds herself regally, as if she has caught Harry and Louis trespassing on her land and not in a palace that she has no claim to. Her hair is long and dark, but her headdress holds her hair off her face. Her features are sharp: high cheekbones cut across her long oval face and her eyes are as dark as the nighttime sky.

Harry can understand why Lady Anne is considered the most beautiful woman in court. Looking upon her, Harry can also understand why Lady Anne is the woman most sought after by King Henry.

Just as it is known that Lady Anne is beautiful, it is known at court that the king desires her. Harry has observed himself as the king has danced with Lady Anne at a banquet, only waiting a moment after the queen retired to her rooms before asking the Lady Anne to dance. Harry has watched as the king spent the evening requesting dances from her, never asking another lord or lady, even the times Lady Anne declined his offers in favor of talking with her friends or dancing with another lord or lady.

The king desires her, but it is unknown whether or not Lady Anne desires him as well.

“Lady Anne,” Louis says, bowing hastily at the interruption. Harry remembers himself and bows too, hastily removing his skewed cap as a sign of respect. “Apologies. We did not know anyone else was in the gardens.”

Harry cannot read the expression on Lady Anne’s face, but when her eyes meet Harry’s, he can see amusement in her dark eyes.

“Surely you have been at court long enough, Lord Louis,” Lady Anne says, her voice smooth and even, “to know that one is never truly alone at the palace. Someone else is always just around the corner.”

Though she says this with a laugh, Harry can’t help but feel a foreboding chill at her words. Louis, however, huffs a soft laugh. “Yes, I have found that to be true.”

Lady Anne smiles at him before looking back at Harry. “Lord Louis, I don’t believe I have met your –” her eyes flash with mirth as Harry blushes “–friend.”

“Apologies again, my lady,” Louis replies, amusement in his tone. “It seems I am making quite a fool of myself today.”

“Nonsense,” she teases. “That is a daily occasion.”

Louis laughs and Harry glances between the two of them, confused. He has never seen Louis engage in conversation with Lady Anne before. To witness their playful banter makes Harry’s brow scrunch in confusion.

“Lady Anne, this is Lord Harry Styles of Cheshire. Harry, this is Lady Anne Boleyn.” Louis introduces formally. “Harry came to court about two months ago.”

“Ah, a new one amongst our ranks, then?” Lady Anne asks, smiling kindly at Harry. “How do you find life at court?”

“Very pleasing,” Harry responds, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Lady Anne laughs softly. “Yes, that is apparent.”

Harry can hardly hide his gasp of shock, but Louis’ laughter mercifully covers the sound.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” Lady Anne says. “I like to come to the maze to think; I believed everyone was watching the Scottish dancers.”

“That’s what we thought as well,” Louis replies.

Lady Anne nods. “Well, I don’t wish to keep you any longer. It was lovely to see you, Lord Louis. A pleasure to meet you, Lord Harry.”

“A pleasure, Lady Anne,” Harry replies, bowing.

Lady Anne smiles at them, and with that, she’s gone.

Harry stands in silence for a moment, unable to believe what he just witnessed. He waits until the sound of Lady Anne’s footsteps are distant before he turns to Louis with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You never told me you were acquainted with Lady Anne!” Harry accuses, lightly slapping at Louis’ arm.

Louis laughs, swatting away Harry’s hand. “Not very well,” Louis defends.

“It didn’t seem that way!” Harry protests. “You two were bantering as if you were friends since childhood!”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly, crossing his arms against his chest, unwilling to give up until he has the explanation he wants.

Louis sighs. “We became acquainted not long after I first came to court, and we did get on very well. Lady Anne is funny and intelligent, and she was interested in discussing western exploration with me.”

“You never told me this in your letters,” Harry says.

“Well, at that point, she was just Lady Anne,” Louis explains. “She wasn’t yet the object of the king’s affections.”

“Oh?”

Louis nods and lowers his voice. “The king began actively pursuing her not long after Lady Anne and I met, and she became overwhelmed by the attention. As far as I could tell, it was never reciprocated on her part, but that didn’t stop the king from sending her letters and always asking her to dance, even sometimes in front of Queen Katherine.”

Harry can feel his forehead wrinkling in confusion. It never occurred to him that someone may not want the king to pursue them. If Harry wasn’t already in love, he would imagine that being pursued by the most powerful man in the world would be joyfully received. He couldn’t imagine someone resisting such a charming and handsome man. But even if the attentions were not desired for some reason, he could imagine that it would be nigh on impossible to say no to a king.

“Lady Anne left court not long before you arrived, and she went back to her family home at Hever Castle,” Louis continues. “Her sister Lady Mary was mistress to the king for a time.”

“Was she?” Harry asks, surprised. He hadn’t heard that before.

Louis nods. “Lady Mary left court before I arrived, but it seems that the king has been quite taken with the Boleyn women.”

“How horrible though,” Harry says. “To be pursued so relentlessly by a man she doesn’t wish to be with. A man who has already bedded her sister.” Harry makes a face. “Surely that is an uncomfortable position to be in.”

“I can’t imagine,” Louis replies. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my acquaintance with her before, but I just haven’t spent really any time with her since she’s been back at court, so it just never occurred to me to tell you.”

“I haven’t been keeping you from spending time with her, have I?” Harry asks worriedly, biting his lip.

“No, you silly man,” Louis answers, shoving at Harry’s shoulder. “She seems to have a lot going on, and my relationship with her was not so close that we would spend time together often.”

“Alright,” Harry responds with a smile. He takes Louis’ hand in his and pulls him towards what he hopes is an exit to the maze. “Let’s head back into the palace and maybe finish what we’d started?”

Louis grins, and they return to the palace hand in hand.

A couple days later, Harry finds himself in the gardens again.

He walks along the Thames path, watching the barges in the distance sailing towards London. Harry has never been to London, and he wonders idly if he will have the opportunity while a part of the king’s court. He has heard stories about the sprawling capital – a city built by the Romans and conquered by the Normans that has now become magnificent because of its citizens. As someone who grew up in the countryside, Harry cannot fathom the streets filled with people that wind and twist as intricately as the palace’s maze. He imagines the muddy streets and the thatched roof houses that block out the sky, and he wonders if he would like the city.

Regardless, he hopes he can visit at least once.

As he walks along, Harry passes other members of court enjoying the favorable weather. Harry nods politely to them as they pass by, sometimes stopping for a moment to exchange pleasantries. He doesn’t linger, that is until he comes across Lady Anne, sitting alone on a stone bench as she reads.

When Harry sees Lady Anne, his feet stutter, willing him to turn around. Heat flares up in his face as he remembers the embarrassing circumstances of his introduction with Lady Anne. Despite her friendly banter with Louis, that was no way for Harry to present himself to a lady.

When Lady Anne looks up and sees Harry approaching, she smiles at him kindly, no trace of discomfort on her face.

“Lord Harry,” she greets. Lady Anne is wearing a deep blue dress, and places her book in her lap as Harry approaches. Harry can see the sunlight catching her necklace, the B pendant for Boleyn with three teardrop pearls hanging from it. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Anne,” Harry replies, taking his cap of his head as he bows.

“Are you enjoying the weather?” she asks politely, but Harry can see a glint of amusement in her eyes. “It was such an unforgiving winter, that it seems the Lord has blessed us with a beautiful early spring.”

“I am,” Harry replies, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He can’t help but feel like Lady Anne notices his discomfort. He clears his throat. “Lady Anne, I want to apologize for the circumstances in which we first made one another’s acquaintance. I didn’t mean to place you in an uncomfortable position –”

Lady Anne’s expression softens as she cuts him off gently. “There is no need to apologize, Lord Harry. You were doing nothing harmful or inappropriate – we just happened to cross paths at an awkward moment.”

Harry can’t help but feel relief at her genuine tone. His shoulders drop with the release of his tension, and he gives Lady Anne an appreciative smile.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Anne waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Do not think of it. I like to consider Lord Louis a friend, and he spoke about you often when we first met. I must apologize for not making your acquaintance sooner, especially considering you are his betrothed.”

Harry blushes, his insides feeling warm as he always done whenever he is reminded that he is Louis’ intended, that they will spend the rest of their lives together.

“Well,” Harry replies, “there is no reason for us to be strangers anymore. Would you care to accompany me on a walk through the gardens?”

Lady Anne smiles at him and stands gracefully. “It would be my honor.”

Harry holds his arm out to her, which she accepts.

“How are you finding life at court?” Lady Anne asks after they have walked for a moment in silence.

Harry considers the question. Usually, it is a perfunctory question, asked to new members of court as they adjust to the lifestyle change. Lady Anne even asked it during the fumble that was their first interaction. This time, Harry can hear the legitimate curiosity in her question, and he knows she wants a truthful answer.

“I find it daunting,” Harry answers honestly. “Even though I grew up in a large home, I had a small family with a small household staff. We would receive visitors on occasion of course, but nothing like here at Hampton Court where there seems to be someone new here every day.”

Lady Anne chuckles. “Yes, I agree. My home was nothing like the scale of Hampton Court, and I remember when I first came here, I didn’t understand how so many people could live in one place.”

“I wonder how they have enough bedchambers,” Harry muses. He thinks about how grand his bedchamber is and cannot fathom that every room in the palace is of the same scale. “I feel as if there are still so many parts of the palace I haven’t explored.”

“Have you been lost often?” Lady Anne asks. “I remember my first few weeks here, I felt like each day the palace was changing shape. That the more I tried to learn my way around, the more lost I became.”

“I know my way from my bedchamber to the Great Hall and to the gardens,” Harry laughs. “I think anything else and I would be hopelessly lost.”

“One of my first days here, I accidentally wandered into someone else’s bedchambers thinking they were my own. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t until I opened the wardrobe and couldn’t find any of my clothes.”

Harry laughs, easily able to imagine him doing something similar. “I am very fortunate to have Louis here,” Harry says. “Since he had a whole year to learn his way around before I came to court, he has really helped me figure out my way and adjust so much more seamlessly than I think I ever could have on my own.”

“My sister was at court when I arrived,” Lady Anne says, “and I found the same. Mary already knew the ins and outs of the palace, and she was able to teach me so much. It didn’t feel like such a strange and new place with someone familiar already here.”

Harry remembers Louis telling him that Lady Mary had been the king’s mistress, but the way Lady Anne mentions her sister, it is as if she was just another member of court. There is clear fondness in Lady Anne’s voice as she speaks of her sister, and Harry wonders what Lady Mary thinks of the king’s pursuit of Lady Anne.

“Is your sister still at court?” Harry asks. “I haven’t had the pleasure of her acquaintance.”

“Oh, no,” Lady Anne shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. “She is at home, at Hever Castle. She just had a baby last month.”

“A baby!” Harry exclaims, his hands clapping together with joy. “How wonderful!”

“Yes, my family is thrilled. A little boy. Mary says he is strong and has powerful lungs – he keeps her up half the night.”

Harry laughs with delight. He has always loved children, and he often thinks about the family he wants to one day have with Louis. “Have you met him?”

“No, but I want to. As soon as the queen can spare me, I would love to go and visit. I miss my sister.”

Harry nods. “I understand. I miss my sister, too. I wish she was still at court.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“She was one of Queen Katherine’s ladies-in-waiting for several years, but she left not long before Louis arrived at court. As much as Louis makes me feel as if I am at home here, I know that having my sister here would make it even more so.”

“Who is your sister? I wonder if I knew her.”

“Lady Gemma Styles.”

“Lady Gemma!” Lady Anne exclaims, smiling at Harry. “I should have guessed you two were siblings – what with those dimples!”

Harry laughs, his heart warming towards Lady Anne to hear her excitement at the mention of his sister. “People often wonder if we are twins. Gemma says that that’s an insult to her.”

Lady Anne laughs richly, Harry joining. “That sounds like something an older sister would say, doesn’t it?”

“Especially mine,” Harry agrees.

Lady Anne nods. “It pleases me to no end that Lady Gemma is your sister. She had such a wicked sense of humor, but such a compassionate heart. I was so disappointed when she left court. Please tell how she is.”

“She is well,” Harry replies. “I received a letter from her not too long ago. She lives in Norwich now with her wife. She prefers Norwich to London because she says it’s not as crowded but still is an exciting place to live. And she enjoys being only a day’s ride to the coast. I am very jealous – I have never been to the sea.”

“Have you seen her recently?”

“Not since her wedding,” Harry replies. “I stayed with her for a couple weeks after the ceremony, but then I returned north and haven’t been back since. I wish I could see her again, but I write her every week which helps.”

“Well, please send my regards when you write her again. I am glad to hear that she is doing so well.” A teasing smile plays on Lady Anne’s lips. “And please tell her I haven’t forgotten the incident with the apples, and that I always think of her and laugh whenever I eat one.”

Harry raises a curious eyebrow at Lady Anne, but she shakes her head. “It’s a long story.”

“Knowing Gemma, I can imagine what she might have done,” Harry says with fond exasperation. “Is it presumptuous to apologize on my sister’s behalf?”

Lady Anne throws her head back and laughs, giving Harry’s arm a squeeze. “You are a faithful brother, Lord Harry.”

Harry grins. “I will be sure to include that in my letter.”

They walk for a moment in comfortable silence before Lady Anne asks, “Tell me about your relationship with Lord Louis. Have you been betrothed long?”

“About two years,” Harry replies. “We were betrothed when I was eighteen, but not long after, Louis was called to court. We decided to wait until we could be together again. We didn’t want to spend our first years of marriage apart.”

Lady Anne nods. “I’m sure that was a difficult decision, but a separation like that when you’re just beginning a life together would be even more difficult.”

“That’s what we thought,” Harry says, “so we just postponed our plans. I know that I am his, and he is mine, and we are content in that knowledge. We are aware that our time at court is temporary, so we will wed when we return up north.”

“How lovely,” Lady Anne replies. “I know how difficult it can be to be apart from one’s betrothed, so I’m sure you must be overjoyed to be reunited with Louis again.”

Even though Harry’s feet keep moving, his brain pauses. It’s as if he just walked right into a wall, and he’s struggling to make sense of what just happened. Lady Anne just mentioned her betrothed, but as far as Harry knows, and from what Louis told him, Lady Anne is not betrothed. Surely if that was the case, it would be known throughout the court. Especially if – Harry’s eyes widen. Especially if she somehow became betrothed to the king.

“My lady?” Harry asks, confusion in his voice. “I did not know you are betrothed. May I offer you my congratulations.”

Lady Anne must hear the uncertainty in Harry’s tone, because she offers him a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, Lord Harry, but rest assured that it is not known that I was betrothed.”

“So you are no longer?” Harry asks, unable to satisfy his curiosity. Remembering himself, he adds, “If you feel comfortable discussing such a personal topic.”

Lady Anne nods. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t feel comfortable, Lord Harry. Since you have faced a similar situation, I felt as if I could confide in you.”

“Yes, my lady,” Harry answers honestly.

Lady Anne gives a small smile before she sighs. “A couple of years ago, I fell in love with a man named Henry Percy. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.” Her tone turns fond, wistful, and Harry knows she is lost in memories of the past. “Tall, intelligent, quick witted. I laughed more with him than I ever have with anyone else. I would talk with him for hours about anything and everything. I fell in love with him before I was even conscious of it happening, and he felt the same.

“We became secretly betrothed, because we both knew our families would not approve. This was three years ago now, and looking back, I don’t know what our plan was. We just knew we loved one another and wanted to be together forever.”

Then, Anne’s expression darkens and her voice holds bitterness as she says, “But then we were found out. Henry was a page to Cardinal Wolsey, and the cardinal publicly scolded Henry for not seeking permission from him or Henry’s father for the marriage. Our parents found out, of course, and neither would permit the marriage. Henry was forced to marry a woman he does not love, and I was sent away for a time before I could return to court. Henry is living up north now, and it is unlikely I will ever see him again.”

Harry’s heart breaks at Lady Anne’s words. He tries to imagine how he would feel if his parents didn’t approve of his betrothal to Louis. If Louis married someone else, Harry would be shattered like a glass dropped on the floor, completely broken and desolate.

“Lady Anne,” Harry says compassionately, “I am so deeply sorry that this has happened to you. Why did your parents disapprove? If you and Henry love one another, why would they want to stop you?”

“They both believed we could make a more advantageous marriage,” Lady Anne replies, “or that is what they told us. I believe it is because their pride was damaged when we didn’t ask for their permission, so they opposed the betrothal out of spite.”

“That is wrong,” Harry says adamantly. “That is so very wrong.”

Lady Anne nods. “It is. Henry and I write letters to one another, so I am able to keep him in my life in some capacity, but it is so difficult knowing that I will never be with the man I love.”

Unable to help himself, Harry stops walking and gives Lady Anne a hug. The action is inappropriate between a man and woman who have only just met, but Lady Anne’s story resonates deeply inside of Harry, and he cannot help but comfort her. Her arms tentatively come around his waist, and she rests her head on his shoulder. “You deserve better than that,” Harry tells her. “I am sorry this has happened to you.”

“Thank you, Lord Harry,” Lady Anne replies, leaning back to give him a watery smile. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me seeing you and Lord Louis together. It makes me think of me and Henry, and what we might have had.”

Lady Anne’s words touch his heart, and he feels a brotherly protection over her. As if he could hide her away from the world and ensure her happiness with the man she loves.

“I know that our situations are different,” Harry says slowly, taking Lady Anne’s hands in his and squeezing lightly. “But when Louis came to Hampton Court and I remained up north, part of me was afraid I would never see him again. That even though I knew he loved me, he would meet someone new and forget me.” Harry swallows roughly. He has never voiced these vulnerable thoughts to anyone, but he can see empathy and understanding in Lady Anne’s eyes. “It was so difficult being away from him for so long, and I was so uncertain of what would happen to us. But now we’re here together, and all of my fears were for naught. The moment I was back with Louis, I knew that I never should have doubted. He loves me just as much as the day he left.

“Your situation is different, and it might be bleaker, but if you love Henry and he loves you, then don’t lose hope. Sometimes life has a way of working out, and you never know. You and Henry could still be together someday. Maybe this is just a part of your story.”

Lady Anne smiles before giving Harry another hug. “Thank you for saying that, Lord Harry. You are a good man, and I can see why Lord Louis loves you.”

“Do not lose hope,” Harry replies. “You deserve happiness.”

“I will keep faith,” Lady Anne says softly.

They part and Harry smiles. “Join me and Louis for dinner tonight. He was telling me that he misses your company, so I am sure he would be delighted.”

“I’d like that,” Lady Anne replies.

“Good,” Harry grins.

Lady Anne loops her arm back through Harry’s with a smile on her face, and they walk deeper into the gardens.

Lady Anne fits seamlessly into their group.

Louis is thrilled when Lady Anne arrives at their table, since Harry purposefully didn’t tell Louis so that he could be surprised. She smiles at Harry as she takes her seat, and when Louis sees, he squeezes Harry’s knee under the table, a simple yet affectionate thank you.

Lady Anne shows incredible interest in learning from Niall about the situation in Ireland. She speaks about her time in France and how they also experience tension with the English presence in Calais. Liam is a bit reserved towards Lady Anne at first, knowing more about her from the gossip in court than through actual interactions with her. But through her gentle nature yet quick wit, Liam laughs as brightly as the rest of them before the evening is up.

Lady Anne offers a balance that the group had not possessed before. She is kind but funny, intelligent but empathetic.

As they part for the evening, Louis makes Lady Anne promise to join them again soon.

“I’ve not had such a splendid time in a while,” Lady Anne assures him, squeezing Louis’ hand. “I will be spending much more time with you both, believe me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Harry says, taking Lady Anne’s hand and kissing it. “Have a good evening, Lady Anne.”

“You as well, Lord Harry, Lord Louis.”

When Harry and Louis return to Harry’s bedchamber, Louis catches Harry around the waist and presses a sweet kiss to Harry’s lips.

“What was that for?” Harry asks, unable to stop himself from blushing.

“For being you,” Louis replies, taking Harry’s cap off his head and brushing the strands of hair out of his eyes. “For showing kindness to Lady Anne.”

“I had a wonderful time getting to know her this afternoon,” Harry replies honestly. “I hope we can spend more time with her.”

Louis nods. “Sometimes it seems as if the king’s attentions have isolated her in court. I would like to show her friendship.”

“She is already fond of you.”

“Yes, but I can’t imagine how it must feel being in her situation. She is one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Her loyalty is to Queen Katherine, but the king desires her. It must be horribly uncomfortable.”

After what Lady Anne told Harry today, he is sure that she does not return the king’s affections. She is still clearly in love with Lord Henry, and Harry can imagine that the king’s attention only complicates the situation.

Not wishing to betray Lady Anne’s confidence, Harry simply nods. “Yes, it must be. It will be no burden to be her friend. I had a marvelous time with her today.”

Louis grins. “Me too.”

Before bed, Louis writes a note asking Lady Anne to accompany them tomorrow on a walk in the rose garden. He sends the note off with his footman, and Harry and Louis fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Harry finds Louis in the library one chilly afternoon, sitting at a table with his back hunched as he pores over a manuscript. Liam, Niall, and Lady Anne sit nearby, but roll their eyes at Louis when Harry enters. His focus is intense, and he doesn’t look up as Harry approaches.

Harry places a hand on Louis’ shoulder, and Louis jumps in the air, his hands clutching at his chest.

“Christ, Harry,” Louis swears, his breath coming short as if he had just finished a long run. “You scared me.”

“I think nothing else would have brought you out of your focus,” Harry chuckles, squeezing Louis’ shoulder lightly.

“It’s true,” Niall says from where he is lounging on a nearby couch, munching on some grapes. “I’ve been throwing grapes into his cap for the last thirty minutes and he hasn’t even noticed.”

“I’m winning by five,” Liam announces proudly, taking a cluster of the fruit from Niall.

Harry laughs, raising his eyebrows at Lady Anne. She sits primly in a chair next to the couch, a book open in her hands. Her smile, however, tells a different story.

“I may have thrown one or two,” she says devilishly. “But that was only because Louis hasn’t spoken to any of us in an hour.”

“Heaven forbid someone goes to a library for some quiet and solitude to read,” Louis grumbles good naturedly.

The five of them laugh, and Harry kisses Louis’ cheek.

“Go back to your grapes and your gossip,” Harry says, waving a dismissive hand at Lady Anne, Niall, and Liam as he takes a seat next to Louis. He is pelted with grapes in response.

“Menaces,” Louis says, picking a grape off the table and popping it in his mouth.

“What are you reading that has you ignoring everyone?” Harry asks, resting his chin in his palm, leaning against the table.

Louis’ smile is almost guilty as he shows Harry the cover of the book. “Antonio Pigaffeta’s _Report on the First Voyage Around the World_.”

“Again?” Harry laughs. “I would have thought you’d have it memorized by now.”

“Only certain parts,” Louis mumbles to himself, making Harry chuckle.

Harry remembers vividly when Louis wrote him a letter a few months before Harry came to court saying that Hampton Court’s library had received from Paris a rare copy of _Report on the First Voyage Around the World_. Pigaffeta accompanied Ferdinand Magellan on the first circumnavigation of the world and was one of the few to return. He published his journals, and Louis had read them eagerly, like a starving man at a king’s banquet.

When Harry first arrived at court, one of the first things Louis showed him was this book.

“It’s the first account we have of people that live on the other side of the world,” Louis had said excitedly, showing Harry the different maps and drawings. “They live so differently, but their societies are successful and their people are happy and well fed.” Louis sighed wistfully. “There is so much to learn. Completely different ways of life that makes just as much sense to those people as our way of life does to us.”

Harry had nodded and let Louis tell him story after story from Pigaffeta’s account.

“What are you reading about this time?” Harry asks, curious. “When they ride elephants covered in silk to meet the island king? One of the battles?”

Louis smiles fondly at Harry’s interest. “I’ve been looking at the maps,” Louis says, flipping a page to show a map labeled _Oceano Pacifico_. “Matching Pigaffeta’s descriptions of the islands with the way he drew them on a map. Just imagine what it would be like to draw the first maps of lands. To discover such a beautiful place that no one other than the inhabitants knows about, and then to be able to share that with the world. How extraordinary.”

“I am sure there are so many other lands to learn about,” Harry says.

“Imagine if a Northwest Passage is discovered,” Louis continues excitedly. “Magellan went south but more and more voyages are sailing north. It could be any day now that one of them returns and says that they sailed around the world by traveling northwest. Think of all the new lands they found and people they met then. It will bring us all together.”

“I wish the king would fund a trip to look for a Northwest Passage,” Lady Anne pipes up, setting her book down on an end table. “It is dangerous and costly, which is why I have heard he doesn’t wish to try, but imagine how incredible it would be. France, Portugal, Spain – they’re all funding expeditions. Why should England fall behind them?”

“Precisely,” Louis agrees. “England has the money and the people and the skill to have a successful expedition. Enough voyages have sailed before us that we would have an idea of what to expect and what to avoid. The Northwest Passage probably hasn’t been found because England hasn’t looked for one,” Louis says proudly and confidently. “England would be able to find it.”

Niall snorts, but Louis ignores him.

“Why do you think the king doesn’t fund expeditions?” Harry asks Lady Anne. “Is it only the cost and the danger?” Harry thinks of the many stories he has heard of the king riding bravely and fearlessly into battle. He can’t imagine that fear would be an obstacle that would stop the king.

Lady Anne shrugs. “Truly I do not know. His father funded John Cabot’s expedition, and that was successful. Maybe the king doesn’t have any interest in finding a passage to China. He has his country to rule and to take care of, and I am sure that is already a great challenge.”

Lady Anne doesn’t have to say that everyone knows all of the king’s focus and attention is on his great matter. If he is unable to secure an heir to the throne, then England’s future is unsteady, like a ship being tossed about in a tempest. Why would the king want to discover new lands when his own is in jeopardy?

“Maybe someday though,” Louis says wistfully, running his hand over the map of the ocean.

“Yes,” Harry agrees, kissing Louis’ cheek. “Maybe someday.”

Harry has barely sat down at the table in the Great Hall to break his fast when Niall exclaims, “The king is playing a tennis match today, and the whole court is invited to attend!”

“Really?” Harry asks, eyes widening with excitement. The king is an avid sportsman, but he usually plays games privately. To play for the whole court will be a rare privilege.

Niall nods, Liam by his side, looking just as excited.

“That sounds fun,” Louis says. “Who is he playing against?”

“Lord William,” Niall replies, referring to one of the king’s closest friends. “He’s really good, so he always gives the king a fair challenge.”

“He’s alright,” Liam says, sounding a bit disgruntled.

“Aww, Liam,” Louis teases, his eyes sparkling. “Are you jealous the king didn’t pick you as his opponent?”

“No,” Liam replies defensively, making Harry giggle. “I’m just saying that in terms of the other tennis players at court, Lord William isn’t the best.”

“Maybe that’s why the king chose him,” Harry attempts to placate. “Because he knows how skilled you are. Maybe since the whole court is watching, the king wants to play against someone he knows he’ll be able to beat.”

“That’s probably it,” Louis agrees sincerely, trying to appease his friend. “The king doesn’t want you to beat him in front of the whole court.”

Liam gives a small smile while Niall nudges him playfully. “Well,” Liam says, “I would have made sure not to beat him by too much.”

Harry, Louis, and Niall guffaw with laughter, Niall slapping Liam on the back.

“Where’s Lady Anne?” Liam asks. “Will she be attending?”

Harry shakes his head. “She wasn’t feeling well when I spoke with her last night, and her maid brought me a note this morning saying she was still unwell and would be confined to her bed for the day. I was going to visit her after breakfast, but I guess now I’ll go after the match.”

Liam nods. “A shame she’ll miss it. I’m sure she would have enjoyed watching the match.”

Harry smiles. “I’m sure she would.”

It seems all of court rushes to finish their morning meal, eager to get to the Royal Tennis Court.

Lords and ladies already fill the viewing gallery, excited chatter filling the space. It’s so crowded with people that Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall only manage to find four seats together in one of the back rows.

The Royal Tennis Court, like everything else at Hampton Court, is grand, ornate, and fit for a king. The ceiling is high with wooden beams stretching gracefully from one side to the other. The tall windows flood the court with light, making Harry feel as if they are still outside.

The royal box is in the middle of the viewing gallery, separate from and grander than the rest of the space. Queen Katherine sits regally, two of her ladies-in-waiting sitting behind her. Her eyes are bright with excitement, and she looks incredibly young as she talks happily with her ladies.

The doors at the far end of the tennis court open, and everyone stands as King Henry walks in.

Harry bows deeply, mirroring the movement of the court. But he can’t help but peer through his eyelashes at the king. He is dressed in only a loose fitting white shirt, his cap and doublet absent, freeing up his movements. His trousers are baggy and tied at the waist.

His clothing is simple, but he still possesses the undeniable air of king. He walks with purpose and authority, each step sure. He walks as if all the land belongs to him, which in this case, it does. Everything belongs to the king – every piece of land, every article of clothing, every person – and this universal ownership is apparent in his gait.

The king strides straight to the royal box, his velvet chair empty next to the queen.

The queen is standing like the rest of the court. When the king and Lord William are in front of her, they both bow deeply.

When the king stands straight, he says in a loud, clear voice, “I play in your honor, my Queen.”

Queen Katherine merely nods, but Harry can see a hint of a smile on her lips. It is clear that she is enchanted with her husband.

Harry wonders if the queen still feels a thrill when the king plays in her honor. If she feels young and in love, enraptured by this man that she gets to call hers. Every woman and man in the realm would do almost anything for such an honor, but it belongs to the queen alone.

Lord William echoes the sentiment, comically less grand than the king’s. However, the queen nods and smiles politely at him.

The king then walks to his side of the court, and the queen sits. Everyone in the viewing galleries follows her examples and takes their seats, ready for the match to begin.

The king takes his position at the end of the court nearest Harry. He swings his racket confidently as he warms up, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

The match begins as the king gracefully and powerfully serves the ball. It is nothing but a blur of color across the court, both the king and his opponent playing with incredible skill. However, for every bit of strength and ability that Lord William shows, the king matches him tenfold.

Harry stares in amazement at the king. It’s the first time he has ever been allowed to watch the king so unabashedly, and Harry finds it difficult to tear his eyes away.

Even after several weeks at court, Harry finds it difficult to believe that this is the King of England in front of him. The most powerful man in the entire world dines in the same hall has Harry, sleeps under the same roof as Harry. The gardens that Harry finds so pleasurable are the same gardens that the king finds pleasurable. They eat the same meals, watch the same masques, read the same books in the library. It is unfathomable, but it is Harry’s reality.

Hundreds of men and women exist purely to do the king’s bidding, to satisfy every whim or desire of his heart. As Harry watches the king in awe, he understands. He understands why the whole of the realm adores and lives to serve their king. Harry himself feels that if the king were to request the slightest thing from him, Harry would do everything in his power to fulfill his king’s wish.

It is impossible not to be charmed by him – his otherworldly attractiveness, his fierce physicality, and the undeniable way he commands a room.

Harry thinks back to his presentation at court. When the whole of the king’s attention was on him, unwavering and intense, Harry had felt like the most important man in the world. To have a taste of what it would be like to captivate the most powerful man in the world was the most addicting feeling.

He wonders what it would be like to have a private audience with the king. To have all of the king’s attention on him once again. Harry imagines he would feel very powerful, but at the same time powerless in the presence of the king.

The match continues at a relentless pace. It is as Harry suspected. Lord William is a talented athlete, but his skill pales in comparison to the king. However, Lord William has proven a fair opponent. The king’s white shirt is soaked through with sweat, powerful grunts ripped from him as he returns each of Lord William’s forceful serves.

The two men break for water. The tennis court immediately fills again with the excited conversation that had been suspended during the match.

“I wish I could play like that,” Louis says, leaning into Harry’s side.

“Shush, you’re amazing at tennis,” Harry says, playfully slapping Louis’ leg. “You’ve beat Liam almost every time you’ve played.”

Louis shrugs, laughing softly. “That’s because all it takes to beat Liam is a little competitive talk. He gets in his head and loses focus.”

Harry laughs, giving Louis a quick peck. “You sound like a commander of an army figuring out how to take down the enemy.”

Louis snorts. “Some enemy Liam is. All I have to do is comment on his misshapen haircut and he starts missing every serve like it’s a lady he’s asking to dance.”

Harry throws back his head and laughs, all too familiar with Liam’s awkward fumbling around the women he fancies.

Harry is still laughing, his smile wide and his dimples deep, when his gaze falls on the king.

The king stands at the edge of the court, still resting and drinking water, but his eyes are locked right on Harry.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, pausing mid laugh like he’s been slapped as the king holds his gaze. For a moment, everything is suspended and unmoving. Just the king’s eyes on Harry, curious and amused. Slowly, the king’s lips tip upward in the smallest of smiles.

Then, the moment is broken as the king returns to his position on the tennis court.

Harry blinks rapidly, feeling like a puppet with its strings cut, struggling to figure out what happened.

The king looked at him. Not only that, but he king _smiled_ at him.

Unless, of course, it was someone else the king was looking at, someone he knew. That would make more sense than the king smiling at Harry. But there’s no one else behind them. And the intensity of the king’s gaze – it had been undeniably fixed on him, burning Harry up.

Louis nudges Harry, his attention abruptly brought back to his betrothed. “I think Liam and Lord William would have been more evenly matched,” Louis says, his tone light and teasing. “Maybe I should play against the king.”

Louis’ words jar Harry, momentarily confusing him. Louis must not have seen the king smiling at Harry. For a moment, that feels impossible. The king’s gaze had caused the whole room to stop, or so it had seemed. To Harry, it had been monumental. To everyone else, it must have been fleeting and unobserved.

Harry fights down a confusing swell of disappointment. The king had smiled at Harry – how had no one noticed?

Harry struggles to remember what he and Louis were even talking about.

With a distant laugh, Harry teases, “You were just complaining about how you wished you could play as well as the king. Your ego would never survive losing to him.”

Louis scoffs indignantly, shoving at Harry’s side with enough force to knock him into the lady sitting next to him. Harry stutters out apologies, receiving a disgruntled huff in return as Louis laughs.

“Just for your sass, I’m ignoring you the rest of the match,” Louis huffs, moving his body away from Harry exaggeratedly.

Harry laughs. “That’s fine. I’d rather watch tennis players who aren’t just talk anyways.”

Louis gasps in shock before throwing his arms around Liam’s shoulders. He practically drapes himself over a horrified Liam, while crying in a loud voice, “Liam, my trusted friend who would never betray me or insult my tennis playing abilities.”

Harry snickers quietly to himself as Liam tries to shove Louis off. Harry turns his attention back to the court where the match is about to resume.

The king and Lord William play several more sets. The brief rest seems to have rejuvenated them, both playing with relentless intensity.

The king doesn’t look Harry’s way again. His gaze his focused on the match, never wavering right to the royal box or left towards Harry. Harry can’t help but wonder the rest of the match what would happen if he did.

The match ends with the king victorious. Harry hadn’t imagined the king would lose, but Lord William had certainly played an excellent game. It had been incredibly exciting to watch.

The court cheers as the king claims victory. Harry claps along with them. The king grins brightly at the viewing galleries, a healthy flush to his cheeks as he breathes rapidly from exertion. Like this, he looks like any young man. He doesn’t look like the King of England, respected and feared throughout the realm. He looks young and happy, as if he doesn’t carry the future of the country on his shoulders, as if his great matter was a problem of someone else’s, not his alone to bear.

It is easy to forget sometimes how young the king actually is. That he became king at eighteen years old, just two years younger than Harry is now. Harry can’t imagine what it would be like to have such a responsibility thrust on him. The king has fought in wars and put down rebellions; he has experienced the death of all but one of his children. That is enough to make anyone withdrawn and bitter, but not the king. As he shakes Lord William’s hand, laughing at a shared joke, he is just a carefree young man celebrating his tennis victory.

However, when the king approaches the royal box, it is as if he has put on a mask, and he is suddenly undeniably the king once more. He offers his arm to Queen Katherine, and she graciously accepts it. They depart the tennis court, everyone bowing and curtsying as they leave arm in arm.

Once the king and queen exit, everyone begins talking excitedly once again. They file out of the tennis court hastily, eager to go to the Great Hall for a celebratory drink.

When Harry starts to follow, Louis grabs hold of his arm, hanging back.

Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis, but Louis just smirks back at him.

“Are you coming?” Niall asks, halfway down the steps with Liam, peering over his shoulder at where Harry and Louis are still by their seats.

“We’ll be along in a minute,” Louis says, grinning at Niall.

“Alright,” Niall replies with a shrug. He and Liam follow the rest of the court out of the tennis court, leaving Harry and Louis alone.

“What are you doing, Lou?” Harry asks.

Instead of responding, Louis releases Harry’s arm to bound down the stairs and onto the tennis court. He walks to the far wall where the tennis rackets and balls are stored.

“Going to show you I’m not all talk,” Louis says, picking up a ball and racket. He tosses the ball in the air, catching it on his racket and beginning to bounce it rhythmically. He cocks his hip, gazing back at Harry. “Unless you don’t think you can beat me.”

“Really?” Harry asks with disbelief, but he finds himself walking out onto the tennis court. “You kept us back from the celebrations in the Great Hall because you want to beat me at tennis?”

“Yep,” Louis replies. He bounces the ball with a little more force which gives him time to aim and hit the ball towards Harry. Harry yelps, jumping out of the way before the tennis ball can hit him. Louis laughs loudly, the sound echoing off the walls in the now empty tennis court.

“Fine,” Harry retorts, his competitive nature coming out. His fingers nimbly unfasten his doublet, tossing his cap onto the ground. Louis’ eyes shine as he watches Harry pick up a racket and do a few practice swings. “But when I beat you, you have to admit to Liam and Niall that you’re a rubbish tennis player.”

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s what I have to do if I lose? Come on, love, that’s not interesting at all.”

“Well, what would you have me do, then?” Harry asks.

Louis twirls the racket idly in his hand as he thinks. A smirk quirks his lips, and he closes the distance between him and Harry with two easy strides. He leans close to Harry’s face, licking his lips suggestively. Harry’s heart gallops in his chest, his mind spinning with what filthy things Louis could be thinking of.

Louis places his lips by Harry’s ear and says, “Tomorrow morning, you have to wake up Niall and Liam by running into the room and jumping on them.”

Harry snorts, stumbling backwards as Louis laughs. “That’s not at all what I thought you’d say!” Harry chuckles with surprise. “They’ll kill me if I do that! Liam sleeps with a dagger under his pillow!”

“That’s never been confirmed,” Louis grins. “But I guess it’s a good way to find out.”

“With me getting stabbed?” Harry asks, horrified.

Louis nods, a childish grin on his face.

Harry huffs. “Only you would think it’s amusing for your betrothed to die in a knife fight.”

Louis laughs, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and giving his cheek a kiss. “It’s a small price to pay for getting to scare Niall and Liam.”

“Well I’m not going to lose, so I guess it doesn’t matter anyways,” Harry says, pushing Louis away.

“Whatever you say,” Louis laughs. “What do I have to do if you win?”

Harry pauses to think, not wanting to decide anything too hastily. Now that he knows what the stakes are, he needs to make sure Louis’ punishment is equal.

“If I win, you have to wake me up each morning for a week with your mouth on my cock.”

Louis snorts, laughing loudly. He pats Harry’s shoulder as if he has made some great joke. “Love, I would do that even if you didn’t win. All you’d have to do is ask; it’s no trouble for me.”

“Still,” Harry says imperiously. “That is what I want.”

“Alright then,” Louis says with a shrug. He hands Harry a racket, bouncing another tennis ball in the air. “I have to make sure I beat you then. I don’t want to suffer such a horrible punishment if I lose.”

“You’re an arse,” Harry says, pointedly ignoring his fond tone as he walks to the other end of the court.

“Yet you still want me to suck your cock,” Louis returns.

Harry ignores him. “Shut up and serve.”

“As you wish,” Louis says. He bounces the ball against the ground while Harry rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. Louis tosses the ball up in the air and swings with all his force to send it rocketing towards Harry.

The game is relentless. Louis may be shorter than Harry, but he holds a lot of power in his frame. His strength equals Harry’s as he sends balls whizzing past Harry quicker than Harry can react. Nevertheless, Harry fights to match Louis’ skill. He stays on his guard the whole time, never letting his focus waver. Louis sends the ball all over the court, making Harry chase it from one end to the other.

“Put those giraffe legs to use, love!” Louis laughs after Harry dives for a ball and still misses it. “They’ve gotta be good for something!”

“How about if I kick you in the head with one of my giraffe legs?” Harry retorts. “Are they good enough for that?”

Louis doubles over with laughter, giving Harry a chance to hit the ball past him before Louis can react.

“You dirty little cheater!” Louis exclaims. “That doesn’t count!”

“I can’t hear you!” Harry calls, skipping to the center of the court.

Louis sticks out his tongue in protest.

When the game ends, Harry all but collapses onto the court. His chest heaves, his shirt sticking to him with sweat. His curly hair feels as damp as if he had been swimming in the river.

Louis lies down next to Harry, his breathing equally rapid, his skin equally slick with sweat.

They lie on the ground until they catch their breath. Even when Harry’s heartrate has returned to normal, he still feels reluctant to get up. His body is heavy, muscles pleasantly sore.

Louis eventually sits up, leaning his elbows against his knees. He gazes down at Harry for a moment. Then, like a bolt of lightning, his hand shoots from his side, smacking against Harry’s crotch.

Harry yelps in pain, his body coiling tightly together like a spring. His knees come into his chest, his face contorted as he rolls on his side. Harry’s hands cup his aching crotch, sensitive and immobilizing.

“That’s the most love your cock is getting this week,” Louis announces smugly, hopping to his feet.

Harry watches as Louis strides confidently out of the tennis court, not looking back.

The next morning, Harry learns that Liam doesn’t keep a dagger under his pillow. Instead, he learns that Niall is able to effectively use a pillow as a weapon. Louis doesn’t stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Harry sees neither the king nor queen over the next week.

He doesn’t think much of it – they are incredibly busy and important people. Harry still has difficulty believing that he lives in the same palace that they do and that randomly seeing the king and queen in the halls is an actual possibility. Not just a possibility, but a reality.

Harry thinks nothing of it, until he realizes that no one else has seen the king or queen either. There has been no word that they have left Hampton Court, so their unexplained absence fills the court with a sense of purposelessness and restlessness. What are they to do if not serve their king and queen?

Harry and Louis do not have that same dilemma as the rest of the court. While Harry does wonder at the king’s absence, it does not overly occupy his thoughts. He continues as he always has since his arrival – spending his days in the gardens, with his friends, reading books, and hanging on Louis’ every word. He spends the evening feasting and dancing, and the nights making love to his betrothed.

Rumors spread like the plague through the court though, and it isn’t long before Harry learns what has been occupying the king.

“He believes his marriage to the queen is invalid,” Louis tells Harry quietly as they walk along the river one day. No one is around, but Louis keeps his voice low anyways, constantly checking over his shoulder.

“What?” Harry asks, disbelieving. “How does that even make sense?”

“Because Queen Katherine was married to the king’s brother first.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, remembering. Prince Arthur had married the Spanish princess Katherine and died several years before Harry was born, so he had always known Queen Katherine as King Henry’s wife only. However, when he was growing up, other children loved to gossip about how their king married his brother’s widow. Since such a marriage was forbidden by the Bible, the Pope had only allowed it when Katherine swore her first marriage had never been consummated.

“But how would it be invalid?” Harry asks, his brows pinched together. He tries to keep his voice low, although the conversation’s intrigue threatens to make his voice rise.

Louis loops his arm through Harry’s, keeping them close. “Apparently the king believes the marriage to Arthur was consummated, which would have made the marriage valid. That means the king never should have been able to marry her. Apparently he believes that they have disobeyed God with their marriage, and that is why they cannot have any sons. They are being punished by God.”

Harry gasps, horrified yet amazed by the possibility. “How horrible. But to be punished in such a way as that – surely that is not the case.”

Louis shrugs. “Well, you know the king sired a son by another woman, Bessie Blount. So it is possible for him to have sons, but maybe it is not possible for the queen. Maybe God is just punishing his union with the queen.”

“I don’t understand why God would bless his union with his mistress though,” Harry points out. “Even if the king has acknowledged the son, he’s still illegitimate and not an heir to the throne.”

“Well, if the king has no other son, maybe that one will be England’s only chance for an heir.”

“There is still Princess Mary. She is legitimate.”

“But a woman. I have no qualms with a female ruler, but the king does.”

“That’s not fair. How could Mary lose her birthright to the king’s son born out of wedlock?”

“It is unfair, but it is the way things are.”

“So that is why the king has been absent lately?”

Louis nods. “Apparently he spends his days reading the Bible and speaking with Cardinal Wolsey. I heard from one of the king’s attendants – well, Liam heard from one of them – that the king may even seek an annulment to his marriage.”

“What?” Harry gasps, stopping abruptly. Louis also stops, looking up at Harry with a twinge of sadness in his expression. “Is that even possible?”

“It is if the king believes his marriage is invalid. The king is younger and healthier than the queen. It would be possible for him to remarry and to have sons.”

“What we’re saying is treasonous,” Harry hisses, not able to believe any truth in Louis’ words.

“It probably is,” Louis agrees. “Apparently the king even spoke to the queen about it.”

“What?” Harry exclaims, then struggles to lower his voice. “What did she say?”

“Liam said that she argued with the king. Can you imagine? She always is so dutiful, but apparently she was adamant that her marriage to the king was valid and her marriage to Arthur was never consummated. She reminded him that she was a dutiful and loving wife and that she has given him a healthy and intelligent daughter who will one day rule.”

“What did the king say?” Harry asks, his curiosity unquenched.

“That if their marriage was truly blessed by God, then the sons she had born him would still be alive.”

“How awful. The queen – I can’t imagine how horrible this must be for her.”

Louis nods. “It is truly unfair to the queen. But think of the situation the king is in. Don’t you think that if there was a possibility, a reason that he could end his marriage, remarry, and have legitimate sons, he would take it?”

Harry shakes his head, unable to wrap it around the situation. He can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to be the king – the glory and the wealth but also the responsibility. If the king has felt like he has failed in his duty to sire an heir, would he abandon his vows made to one woman in the hopes of giving his country what they need to continue? If he felt like God had cursed the marriage, would he, as God’s chosen ruler, not do what God wanted?

“I don’t know,” Harry admits.

“I don’t think the king does either. I certainly don’t know what I would do in that situation.”

“Maybe nothing will come of it,” Harry suggests hopefully. “Maybe Cardinal Wolsey will be able to convince the king that he has done his duty to his people in providing us with an heir in Princess Mary.”

“Maybe,” Louis agrees, doubtfully.

They say nothing more, relieved that solving the king’s great matter is not on their heads.

A series of sharp, rapid knocks break the nighttime silence at Hampton Court, forcefully jarring Harry from his sleep.

He sits up in bed like an arrow shot from its bow, his brain still foggy with sleep.

“Whassit?” Louis groans. He reacts more slowly than Harry, always the heavier sleeper of the two.

The knocking does not cease, and Harry hastily climbs out of bed. He doesn’t bother putting on his overcoat, his mind too hazy and the knocking too frantic and insistent to remember proper convention.

As he stumbles to the door, Harry can’t even think as to who could be calling in such a panic at such an hour.

“Lady Anne,” Harry gasps, blinking sleep from his eyes. At the sight of his friend’s distressed face, her hands wringing nervously together, Harry instantly feels awake and alert. He can hear Louis shifting in bed, also attentive to their friend’s distress.

“Lord Harry, may I come in?” Lady Anne asks, her voice trembling.

“Of course,” Harry says, stepping back to let her in. He shuts the door firmly behind her, bolting it.

“Lady Anne,” Louis says with concern, out of bed and by her side. Lady Anne is restless, packing back and forth. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

However, Lady Anne seems too overcome with emotion to respond. A hand comes up to cover her mouth, a thousand different emotions cross her face so quickly that Harry can’t even begin to decipher them. Harry steps to Lady Anne’s side, touching her arm in a gesture of comfort. He meets Louis’ eyes, and sees his own fear and concern echoed in Louis’ expression.

“It’s – it’s my sister Mary,” Lady Anne stutters, her voice thick. “I received word that she is very sick.” Lady Anne gasps, choking on a sob. “I must leave at once. I must go to her.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry replies, squeezing Lady Anne’s arm. “Is it the baby?”

Lady Anne doesn’t seem to understand Harry’s words as she paces around the room. “What? Oh yes, the baby. That’s it.”

“How dreadful,” Harry says, heart breaking for his friend. Harry remembered Lady Anne telling him how eager she was to meet her new nephew. She wanted to go home during the summer, when the weather was warmer. Not because of a crisis that demanded her immediate presence. “Of course you must go to her.”

Lady Anne wipes clumsily at her eyes. “Thank you. I just don’t know what to do. I can’t think.”

“Let us help you,” Louis offers, Harry nodding his head in agreement. Harry looks at him, and he can see Louis’ protective nature setting his expression into one of firm determination.

Gratefulness crosses Lady Anne’s face, relaxing her hard expression into something gentler.

“Can you request a carriage for me?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry responds, nodding and moving towards the door. “Where shall I tell the driver to prepare a journey to?”

“Hever Castle,” Lady Anne responds. “I’m going home.”

Harry and Louis stay with Lady Anne for the rest of the night, helping her pack and doing anything else she requires for her journey.

Lady Anne leaves for Hever Castle before the sun in even fully awake, only a thin line of light on the horizon.

As they walk out of the palace, Lady Anne’s head is held high, but she keeps glancing behind her. Harry smiles at her reassuringly every time their eyes meet, but she does not seem placated. Lady Anne’s darting glances and nervous disposition makes Harry feel like a thief in the night. As if he is sneaking off with the Crown Jewels, never to be heard of again.

The carriage is loaded swiftly and silently.

“We’re ready to depart whenever you are, m’lady,” says the driver, bowing deeply before Lady Anne.

She nods before exhaling shakily, turning to Harry and Louis. Harry can see the exhaustion in her face, but also her eagerness to return home. When she meets Harry’s eyes, he sees gratitude.

“How can I ever thank you for your kindness?” Lady Anne asks Harry and Louis, taking one of their hands in each of hers. “You are such faithful friends.”

“You may always depend on us to help you in moments of trouble,” Harry replies earnestly.

Lady Anne smiles at him, but the light doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

Lady Anne wraps Harry in a close embrace, and Harry runs his hands against her back, a futile attempt at soothing her. It is only when Harry wraps his arms around her that he feels how Lady Anne trembles. His brow scrunches with confusion, and he wonders if something else is on Lady Anne’s mind, something that would make her react so strongly. Harry wishes to find the words to reassure her, but before he can, Lady Anne steps away from him and gives Louis a quick embrace.

“Please write us when you arrive at Hever Castle,” Harry says. “Let us know how you fare.”

“I will,” Lady Anne promises. She pauses for a moment, and then grasping both Harry’s and Louis’ arms, she whispers fiercely, “Stay on your guard. Do not let anything divide you.”

Without another word, Lady Anne steps into the carriage, the door shutting immediately behind her.

“Giddyap!” the driver calls to the horses, his whip cracking in the still morning air.

The carriage lurches to a start, a cloud of dust churned up by the wheels as they start down the drive. Harry and Louis stand and watch as the carriage disappears through the gate and onto the London road.

Harry doesn’t look away from the place where the carriage disappeared until he feels Louis’ hand slip into his. Harry turns to look at him, and Harry sees the exhaustion written into Louis’ features.

“Let’s go to bed,” Louis says softly.

The exhaustion that Harry had been keeping at bay while he worked through the night comes upon him like a powerful drug injected into his bloodstream.

Harry nods in agreement and allows Louis to lead him back into the palace. Their hands stay intertwined as they make their way to Harry’s chambers, but they remain silent.

It is not until they are back in Harry’s chambers and changing into their sleeping attire that Harry asks, “What do you think Lady Anne meant when she told us to stay on our guard?”

Louis pauses as he unbuttons his shirt, his fingers loosely grasping a button. He looks at Harry, concern and confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” Louis admits, “but I think something is going on that she didn’t tell us about.”

“Do you think it has to do with Lady Mary or the baby?” Harry asks, slipping his night shirt on. “About why she had to depart so suddenly?”

“I don’t know,” Louis repeats. His hands fall to his side, and he sits heavily on the corner of the bed. “Did you notice how she kept checking over her shoulder as we left the palace? As if she expected someone to appear and stop her?”

“I did notice that,” Harry replies, “and I didn’t understand why. Her duty is to the queen, but surely the queen would not protest Lady Anne leaving the palace to go care for her sister.”

“Maybe it was not the queen she was fearful of stopping her,” Louis muses bleakly.

Harry’s eyebrows rise, and he sits down next to Louis with a thud. “You think the king would have stopped her? But why?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “Since he desires her, maybe he wouldn’t approve of her leaving Hampton Court. Maybe he would have made her stay. Maybe Lady Anne knew that the queen would allow her to leave, but not the king.”

“Would the king really refuse to let her go see her sister while she and the baby are ill?” Harry asks in disbelief. “Surely not.”

“It could be,” Louis says, “but it still doesn’t make sense for her to warn us to stick together. Why would she say that if she was just afraid the king would stop her from leaving?”

Harry’s brow furrows. He thinks of Lady Anne the past few weeks, of their walks in the garden and their meals together. Her conversation with Harry has always been light since that first walk in the garden. She has never said anything to indicate that something deeper was troubling her.

“Maybe it has something to do with Henry Percy,” Harry wonders. Lady Anne still spoke of Henry Percy from time to time, and she’d told Louis about her broken betrothal to him, but it was always as if she was speaking of someone who was no longer living. A person who she could never speak with again, but who she would keep alive in memories and anecdotes.

“Maybe,” Louis agrees. “I truly don’t know, but maybe it is best that the less we know the better. We will keep Lady Anne and ourselves safer that way.”

“I suppose,” Harry replies. “There is nothing more we can do right now. We helped her when she needed us, and we will continue to guard her the best we can.”

“That we will,” Louis says with a firm nod. However when he looks away, Harry sees doubt in Louis’ expression.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

Louis sighs, his shoulders hunched in. “I don’t know what is going on with Lady Anne, that is true, but I just fear that there is no way this situation will end well,” Louis admits.

Harry takes Louis’ hand in his, giving a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t reply because he doesn’t want to admit that he as well believes the situation will only end in disaster. Instead, he says nothing, takes Louis in his arms, kisses his cheek, and lies down to sleep.

The palace seems quieter without Lady Anne.

Harry and Louis receive a brief note from her several days after her flight from Hampton Court. She states that she is well and arrived home with no interruptions. She thanks Harry and Louis again for their help, and then signs the note simply, “Anne.” She makes no mention of her sister or the baby.

Life at the palace continues as normal. Harry, Louis, Niall, and Liam continue their regular day-to-day activities: they walk in the gardens, read in the library, watch performances, and visit with dignitaries from the continent. But they miss that fifth presence. Like a stack of bricks, remove one, and everything collapses.

The king and queen gradually begin to appear around the palace again. The first time Harry sees them in the Great Hall, he can do nothing but stare. Harry tries to be subtle about it, but he knows from the way that Louis keeps nudging him that he is not succeeding. It seems like all of court is attempting to discreetly watch their sovereigns. Harry looks for any change in their features, any hint of stress or discord that could indicate that the rumors Louis shared with him are true.

He sees nothing.

The king and queen act as if they have never left, as if everything is perfectly normal. They laugh and smile and speak with those around them, but never to one another. Harry doesn’t find that too unusual though – they never really interacted much at meals. He understands that. Since he spends so much of his free time with Louis, at meals, Harry usually spends more time speaking with his friends. He spends time with them, because he knows he will spend the rest of the evening with Louis.

With the king and queen, they never even look in the other’s direction. It is as if the other person is not even there. Harry never blatantly ignores Louis like that, and they often find themselves in the same conversation with their other friends. The king’s and queen’s actions seem more deliberate. A purposeful choice to ignore one another.

Maybe the rumors are true. Harry can hardly bare to think it.

About two weeks after Lady Anne’s departure, Harry finds himself deep in the grounds of Hampton Court. That morning he decided to take his favorite horse from the stables, Willow, on a ride. Louis was playing tennis with Liam, and although they invited Harry to play, he had declined. It had been too long since he’d been riding, and it was one of his favorite activities at home. There was something so centering about the connection between a rider, horse, and nature.

Harry had let Willow take him where she wanted to go, uncaring of the direction of the paths. The sun shines through the trees, and he’s spent enough time with Louis talking about navigation and charting the stars that he knows he will be able to find his way back to the palace if he is still deep in the woods past sunset.

As he rides along, he comes to a pond, small and tucked away deep within the grounds. Harry’s clothes are soaked through with sweat from the ride and the warm May sun beating down on him. A gentle breeze comes off the pond, herons flying overhead and ducks swimming lazily through the water.

Harry dismounts from Willow, leading her to the water so she can drink. As Willow bends down to the water, Harry also leans down, scooping up handfuls of water to splash on his face, to spill over his head. The water is cool, and his skin turns to goosebumps as it drips down his skin.

So deep into the forest, Harry doesn’t think twice about undressing, leaving his clothes in an unkempt pile by his boots. He wades into the pond, the cold temperature a relief on his overheated skin. Harry dives into the water, letting it envelop him.

Swimming in ponds like this never fails to make him think of Louis – the first time they kissed, the first time they made love, their skin still wet as they rolled around in the grass. He had been so consumed with love for Louis that day by the water – knowing that this was his person, that he had found the man he never wished to part from. Harry smiles as he floats on his back, blinking his eyes up at the blue sky, only wisps of clouds rolling lazily past the sun.

He swims for a while, alternating between chasing the ducks and watching the clouds drift by. Eventually Harry swims to shore. Willow rests comfortably on the ground, her breathing relaxed and even. Harry decides to copy Willow’s idea – a nap sounds heavenly.

Harry dries off the best he can, using his shirt to wipe off his skin. He hangs his shirt on a tree limb doused in sunlight so that it can dry. Harry slips on his underwear, deciding to leave off everything else. There is no sense on putting on his doublet if he doesn’t have his shirt on, and his trousers are uncomfortable to sleep in.

Harry finds a patch of sunny grass close to Willow and lays down, his head pillowed by his doublet stuffed into his cap. The birds trill songs around him, the water ebbing quietly against the shore. These sounds create a gentle lullaby that quickly drifts Harry off to sleep.

A loud, crashing noise abruptly ends Harry’s lullaby, startling him awake. Harry jolts, turning to the noise to see a horse and rider coming along the path, the horses’ hooves heavy against the earth.

Even though he is not normally one to be bothered by nudity, Harry jumps up to grab his shirt, just in case it is a young lady who he does not wish to offend.

But the person who rides into the clearing is not a young lady of court. No, it is so much worse.

“Your Majesty,” Harry gasps, bowing deeply as soon as he recognizes marble-sculpted face, the auburn hair, and the indescribably fine clothing.

Harry keeps his gaze fixedly on the ground, heat like the sun’s core flooding his face. He stands practically naked before the King of England. If only the ground would open up and swallow him to its center, or if only he could fling himself into the water and stay amongst the reeds until he becomes one of the fish.

“Rise,” the king instructs. Harry can’t read his tone – does he hear a hint of amusement? Nevertheless, he would infinitely prefer to ignore the king’s request and stare at the ground until he rides away.

But Harry cannot disobey the king, so he rights himself slowly, his cheeks still flaming.

The king’s expression is impossible to read. He sits on his horse, looking down at Harry. There is no one else around, and Harry can’t help but wonder if it is at all normal for the king to ride out unaccompanied.

“What is your name?” the king asks.

“Lord Harry Styles of Cheshire,” Harry replies, averting his gaze to the ground. He holds his hands in front of him, trying to subtly conceal his crotch. “An honored member of my king’s court.”

“Lord Harry Styles?” the king repeats, tone reflective. Harry doesn’t chance a glance to see what his expression might be. “Yes, I remember your presentation at court, and I’ve seen you in the Great Hall.”

Harry’s breath catches at that comment. The king has _noticed_ him before. The king _recognizes_ him. Harry is not a particularly important member of court, so he can’t imagine what he might have done to catch the king’s eye. He remembers with a jolt the look they shared at the tennis courts. Harry wonders if the king remembers.

“I am honored, Your Majesty,” Harry says, genuinely and humbly.

“You are a friend of Lady Anne Boleyn’s?” the king asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies.

“She has spoken highly of you,” the king says, “but she never mentioned your proclivity to spending your afternoons barely clothed on the palace grounds.”

Impossibly, Harry’s cheeks seem to grow hotter. But when he looks up at the king, Harry is surprised to find the king’s lips quirked into an amused smile. His eyes hold laughter in them, not anger.

Regardless, Harry stumbles over himself to apologize. “Your Majesty, my deepest apologies. I did not know anyone else would be this deep into the grounds, and I fell asleep while my clothes were still drying. If I have offended you, believe me, it was never my intention –”

The king holds up a hand, effectively cutting off Harry’s nonsensical justifications.

“It is of no offense to me, Lord Harry,” the king replies. “The grounds of my palace are for the members of the court to enjoy. It brings me pleasure to see them being taken advantage of in such a way.”

With these words, the king’s eyes flicker slowly over Harry’s body, leaving searing lines down Harry’s chest and waist to his covered crotch and his legs and then back up again. When the king meets Harry’s eyes, a smirk now rests on his lips. “Feel free to find pleasure in my grounds anytime you wish, Lord Harry.”

Harry’s mouth falls open like a fish on dry land as he tries to suck in enough air and find words to reply at the same time. He fails in both respects, left looking like a brainless body, devoid of words and sense.

The king’s smirk only grows as he watches Harry struggle to reply. Eventually, he chuckles to himself and says, “Good afternoon, Lord Harry.”

These words make sense to Harry in some distant way, and he immediately remembers himself. He bows deeply, hair falling into his eyes, his hands still futilely attempting to cover his nudity. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” Harry practically croaks.

Harry stares at the ground, back hunched over until the sound of horse hooves disappear, the only sound remaining the birds and the water once again.

When Harry is certain he is alone, he rights himself stiffly. His cheeks are still hot, his hands trembling. He dresses hastily, his skin dried enough that the clothes don’t stick to him too much. He struggles to put them on anyways. He mounts Willow quickly, the sun already setting in the west.

The whole ride back to the palace, Harry can feel the king’s gaze burning a line down his body.


	2. Chapter Two

Harry finds Louis in his chambers, his cheeks flushed from his tennis match and his hair matted to his forehead and neck. He holds a damp cloth in his hand, washing his arms and face. Louis stands at the vanity with nothing but his trousers hanging loosely from his hips.

Harry bursts into the room, causing Louis to jump and yelp in surprise. He drops the cloth and his hand flies to his chest, and it’s like Harry can feel the spike in Louis’ heart rate. Harry’s own heart pounds in his chest, his breathing rapid from his race back to the palace on horseback and then from running through the palace corridors in the hope to get to Louis as quick as possible.

“Jesus, Harry!” Louis exclaims. “You startled me!”

“Louis, you’ll never guess what just happened!” Harry explodes, going right to Louis side.

“What?” Louis asks, intrigued.

“I just met the king!” Harry says in a hasty and excited exhale.

Louis’ eyebrows disappear into his hairline, his mouth falling open. “What?” he gasps. “How did that happen? Tell me everything!”

“I was out riding,” Harry begins, words rushed as he tells the story, “and I stopped at this pond far away from the palace. It was so far, I didn’t think anyone would be out there. Anyways, I went swimming and then took a nap in only my underwear and oh my God – the king found me in my underwear!” Harry presses his palm to his forehead, embarrassment and disbelief raging inside of him.

“You met the king in your underwear?” Louis laughs, the back of his hand covering his smile. “Harry Styles – that would only happen to you and no one else!”

“I know!” Harry exclaims, laughing in disbelief.

“Well,” Louis says, “what did he say to you?”

“He said he recognized me.”

“He recognized you?” Louis exclaims, voice climbing about three octaves. “How?”

“He knew of me because of Lady Anne. He recognized me from my presentation, but he knew I was friends with her. She must have mentioned me.”

“Did he say anything else about Lady Anne?” Louis questions. “Has he been in contact with her?”

Harry shakes his head. “He didn’t mention her other than asking if I was a friend of hers.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Louis muses, before a teasing smile returns to his lips. “I can’t believe you were practically naked before the king. Did he say anything about it?”

“He – he teased me for it,” Harry says incredulously. “I thought he would be angry or offended but he wasn’t. He teased me.”

“Well, you’re so easy to tease,” Louis laughs, his eyes sparkling.

“And he –” Harry pauses abruptly, remembering the final moments of his encounter with the king. The king’s gaze, hot and appreciative, raking down Harry’s body. Harry meets Louis’ eyes, his expression open and excited at Harry’s encounter with the king. The words are on the tip of Harry’s tongue to tell him about the way the king looked at him, but at the last moment, Harry swallows them down. There is no reason to upset Louis – no reason to tell him about a fleeting glance, no matter how intrusive it felt.

“And he what?” Louis asks with a laugh, clearly expecting another humorous aspect to Harry’s story.

“He – he just rode off,” Harry says. “He teased me and rode away before I even knew what was happening.”

Louis chuckles. “He probably thought you were a lune and wanted to get away from you as quickly as possible.”

“If he thought I was a lune who had broken into the grounds, he’d send me to the Tower,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’m glad he didn’t,” Louis replies, kissing Harry’s cheek. He walks back over to the vanity, picking up his cloth. “I’m going to finish washing, and then do you want to go down for supper? I’m famished.”

Harry nods. “Sure.”

“You’ll have to tell Niall and Liam about your encounter with the king,” Louis laughs. “Liam will be so jealous.”

“Liam would rather die than meet with the king in his underwear,” Harry contradicts.

“That’s true,” Louis concedes. “I still imagine he’ll make one comment about how he should have gone riding with you instead of playing tennis with me.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

The following week brings June’s holy day, a day dedicated to gluttony in the name of religion.

The morning is spent in the chapel. Harry, Louis, and the other members of court dutifully attend Mass, praying and chanting as the angels and saints painted on the ceiling watch over them. Harry finds his mind wandering during the service, instead choosing to gaze at the stunning ceiling, carved ornately and painted in the richest blues and golds.

Only once does his attention wander behind him, his eyes trailing slowly up to the king’s balcony, seated high above everyone else, even higher than the angels and saints.

When his eyes fall on the king, Harry can’t help but marvel at him.

The king truly is a beautiful man. Even as Harry gazes at him from an awkward angle, he can still admire the king’s red hair and trim figure and sharp jaw. The king looks magnificent next to the queen, both dressed in fine, extravagant clothing.

The king and queen have been back in court regularly enough that everyone seems to have forgotten about the rumors of marital trouble. Harry, concerned with his own day-to-day, only remembers every now and again.

It happens in a flash. One moment, Harry watches the king, and the next, the king’s eyes has found his.

Harry inhales sharply, looking quickly down to the ground.

Even though the glance had only been a moment, the king’s gaze was as intense and focused as it had been on the banks of the pond the previous week.

Harry feels as naked as he did then under the king’s gaze, blushing a brilliant red as he keeps his eyes firmly trained on the ground.

Louis, noticing Harry’s jerky movements, nudges him with his elbow.

Harry looks to his left, thankfully the king still out of his line of sight. Louis’ quirks his eyebrow, a silent question.

Harry shakes his head, placing his hand on Louis’ knee and giving it a light squeeze. Harry spends the rest of Mass trying and failing to focus on what the priest says, but he does not let his gaze wander again.

When the service ends, everyone files out piously, heads bowed in reverent submission, as if they aren’t about to indulge in a gluttonous feast.

From the short walk from the Chapel Royal to the Great Hall, the mood of the court grows from quiet piety to excited celebration. Harry also feels himself relax the closer they get to the Great Hall, the promise of good food and drink and a lively evening making him forget how strange it feels to be under the king’s gaze.

The tables in the Great Hall are filled with every assortment of meat found on the grounds of Hampton Court – venison, hens, rabbits, wildfowl, goose, beef. The rich smells flood the hall with the most appetizing aroma, and Harry’s stomach grumbles noisily.

“Make sure to try some of the venison,” Liam says proudly. “I brought one down myself when I was out hunting with the king. He told me he’d never seen a finer hunter.”

Niall claps Liam on the back, “I’m sure he only said that because he was raging inside that you brought down the hart before he did.”

Harry and Louis snort while Liam fumes at Niall.

Hunting with the king is a rare and coveted privilege. It is widely known that one of the king’s favorite pastimes is to hunt, and to be invited along on one of hunting trips shows great favor. Liam has been bragging about it nonstop since he received the invitation, and then has recounted in painstaking detail every moment of the hunting excursion multiple times to Harry, Louis, and Niall.

While Harry was genuinely excited for Liam, Niall had teased him. The most coveted hunting trips are the ones to Greenwich or deeper into Surrey. Those usually last for several days or even a week. Such an extended period of time in the king’s company is only reserved for his closest of friends and companions. Liam’s hunting trip with the king was only through the forests adjacent to Hampton Court, and Niall loves to remind Liam that it wasn’t one of the week long excursions.

Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall stuff their bellies with the rich food. They eat until they can’t eat anymore, talk and dance for several hours, and then eat some more. The food flows endlessly from the kitchens, always hot and smelling delicious.

The dancing is lively, the musicians playing upbeat songs that have the whole court on their feet. Harry dances until his feet are sore, laughing and hanging off Louis and ready to indulge in even more food.

Throughout the holy day feast and dancing, Harry never pays attention to the king. After catching the king’s gaze in the chapel, Harry has kept his eyes fixed anywhere but at the front of the room. He focuses on Louis: the way Louis laughs, the way his voice gets louder and quicker when he’s telling a story and is excited about the ending and wants to get to it sooner, the petal pink flush on his cheekbones from a mixture of dancing and drink. It’s easy to focus on Louis – it’s wonderful to focus on Louis. Louis always occupies Harry’s attention, so getting lost in him is no hardship. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world.

However, that means Harry doesn’t notice as the king continues to watch him throughout the feast. While Harry eats and talks and laughs and dances, the king watches.

A waltz begins, and Harry finds himself gravitating into Louis’ arms. He doesn’t hold Louis as close as he wants to, still maintaining a respectable distance, but it is more intimate than anything else they have danced tonight. All the other dances were in lines, with the partners dutifully separated and brought back together fleetingly. Coming together and apart, together and apart, like the restless flow of the tide.

Now they are together. Together in one another’s arms, spinning around the room, lost in the other’s gaze.

“You look beautiful like this,” Louis says, a fond smile on his lips.

“Like what?” Harry asks, his face mirroring Louis’ smile easily.

Louis shrugs. “Happy. You look really happy.”

“I am happy,” Harry tells Louis earnestly. “So happy to be here with you.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle as his smile grows impossibly wider. “Good.”

They twirl around the hall, oblivious to everyone around them. It’s as if they are the only two people in the Great Hall.

They are decidedly not.

“Lord Harry?”

Harry jars at the sound of his name spoken so formally while he is in such an intimate dance. For a moment, he thinks it’s Louis who has spoken. But he knows Louis’ voice better than he knows his own, and that was not it.

King Henry VIII stands before Harry and Louis, unforgivably attractive and unmistakably imperial.

For a moment, Harry does not believe that the king is actually speaking to him. It was not the king who spoke his name; of course it was someone else. The king is clearly just standing here, waiting for Harry and Louis to move out of his way like how the Red Sea parted for Moses. That is the only explanation why the king is standing before Harry, looking at him expectantly.

Regardless, Harry hasn’t forgotten protocol, and he quickly bows. “Your Majesty,” he says reverently. He feels Louis beside him also sweep into a low bow, echoing Harry’s words.

The king doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Harry fights the urge to glance up to see what he is doing. Surely the king has already walked away, only waiting to receive the reverence and respect he is owed before moving on to someone more important in the hall, more deserving of his attentions.

Then the king speaks and his words shake Harry to his core. “May I have this dance, Lord Harry?”

Harry forgets all protocol and gapes at the king. The words ricochet through Harry’s mind, but he can make no sense of them. The whole court seems to collectively inhale sharply, holding their breath as they wait for Harry’s answer, but Harry doesn’t know how to answer because he doesn’t understand.

The King of England stands before him, his hand extended, asking Harry to dance. In what world is this possible? Surely there is some kind of mistake. Surely the king isn’t actually asking Harry to dance. As if any moment the king is going to burst into laughter, saying it is just some grand joke, before walking away from a stunned Harry. Then he would walk back to his friends and laugh in amusement at the lowly lord who though the king actually wanted to dance with him.

The king doesn’t walk away, doesn’t begin laughing. He continues to stand before Harry, waiting for him to accept and take his hand.

It may be a dream, but Harry is going to embrace it until he has to wake up.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies, hardly recognizing his own voice. He glances over at Louis, who is also staring in wide eyed amazement. Harry has always had a talent for reading Louis’ thoughts on his face, but in this moment, Harry wishes he could read Louis’ mind. He wishes that they could communicate telepathically so that he could truly know what Louis thinks.

Harry steps away from Louis, placing his hand in the king’s. The king opens his arms for Harry to fit into, his hand settling on Harry’s waist. Harry’s hand settles on the king’s shoulder, and the material beneath his palm feels finer than anything else Harry has ever touched before. He wonders if the king’s clothes are nothing but silk and gold, for that is what they feel like.

The feeling of being held in someone else’s arms is foreign. Where Louis is shorter than Harry and fits in his arms, the king is the same height as Harry. The king’s hand is rough and large, not soft and dainty like Louis’. The king grips his hand in a secure, protected hold, while Harry keeps his grip loose.

They join together as soon as a new song starts up, the musicians clearly waiting for their king to be ready before playing. The music isn’t as up tempo as the dances from earlier in the evening, but it is also not as slow and romantic as the song Harry and Louis had been dancing to when they were interrupted. It’s a distinguished dance, appropriate for the king.

In a moment of panic, Harry can’t remember how his feet work, and he prays to the gods above that he won’t step on the king’s toes.

The king leads Harry effortlessly around the dance floor, and Harry can’t help but notice that no one else in the room is dancing. They are the only two, and every pair of eyes is on them. Harry doesn’t dare look at the king, instead seeking out Louis in the crowds. It takes several turns before Harry’s eyes fall on him. Louis stands to the side with Niall and Liam, watching with rapt attention. A smile rests on Louis’ lips, and Harry can see something akin to pride in Louis’ eyes as he watches Harry and the king dance.

“You are a very graceful dancer, my lord,” the king remarks.

Turning his attention back to the king, Harry can’t help the blush that creeps into his cheeks. He is dancing with the King of England, the most powerful man in the world. And he just complimented Harry’s dancing!

“Not as graceful as Your Majesty,” Harry replies dutifully.

The king hums, and Harry imagines that flattery is so customary for him that it leaves him wholly unaffected.

“Are you enjoying the holy day celebrations?” the king asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies earnestly. “Hampton Court always has the finest feasts, but I do believe this one has outshined them all. I heard some of the venison was from your recent hunt.”

The king nods proudly. “We have recently had many successful hunts. Although I doubt there will be anything left from any of those hunts after today.”

Harry laughs, and he is almost surprised to find that it is a genuine laugh, not one of politeness or obligation. “At least that gives Your Majesty an excuse to plan another hunting excursion.”

The king smirks. “That is true. However, I wonder if on my hunt I will continue to find barely clothed lords instead of the harts or boars I intend to find.”

Harry’s face immediately turns bright red. Any hope of the king not remembering their encounter is dashed in an instant. Harry quickly stumbles over himself to apologize. “I must apologize again that you found me in such an awkward position, Your Majesty. I did not mean to offend.”

The king shakes his head. “Hold your apologies, Lord Harry. I found it amusing, not offensive. It’s not often I stumble upon such a sight on the grounds. It was a diverting change.”

Harry is truthfully unsure how to respond. Etiquette requires demure and flattering responses to any nobility or royalty, let alone the king, but the king is teasing Harry. Their conversation is not one of formality, but almost seems as if it is between two friends.

Harry takes a deep breath and a risk. “Well, the pond was an excellent place to go swimming. I would recommend it to Your Majesty if you ever desire a private swim.”

The king lifts his eyebrows, amused by Harry’s bold response. “I would have to swear you to secrecy though of my whereabouts, Lord Harry. Otherwise I would be unsurprised to find you selling tickets on the banks to the entire court.”

Harry guffaws with laughter. “I would keep Your Majesty’s confidence,” Harry replies. “Although I can imagine Your Majesty swimming in the pond would be a better attended event than those singers from Berkshire last week.”

The king laughs loudly, the sound rich and ringing. “I would hope more people would be interested in watching me swim than listening to those singers again. They were truly dreadful, weren’t they?”

Harry smiles. “I don’t wish to speak ill, but I wouldn’t have minded staying in my chambers that evening instead.”

“You may speak ill if you wish, Lord Harry,” the king says indifferently, but then a glint of amusement crosses his expression. “As long as it is not against my musical abilities.”

“No, Your Majesty, your music is always so pleasurable to listen to,” Harry replies earnestly. “Your talent at the lute is unmatched at Hampton Court.”

The king smiles. “I remember from your presentation at court that you said you played the lute. You must play for the court sometime.”

“I would be honored,” Harry says gratefully, surprised that the king remembers his presentation. At the most, Harry had wondered if the king remembered the look they shared at the tennis match. To actually remember his presentation at court, when there were so many others that appeared before the king that very day, is an incredible compliment. “Playing the lute is one of my greatest joys.”

“Do you sing?” the king inquires.

“Yes,” Harry replies. “I love to sing. However, my betrothed, Lord Louis Tomlinson, has a much more pleasurable voice. I always prefer to play while he sings.”

“You will have to sing for us sometime,” the king says, ignoring Harry’s mention of Louis. “I am sure the court would find that most enjoyable.”

“I live to serve my king,” Harry answers dutifully, keeping his head bowed in submission.

Before Harry can say anything else, the song draws to a close. The musicians don’t immediately start up another song, clearly waiting to see what their king wishes.

The king lets go of Harry, and Harry quickly steps an appropriate distance away from the king. Harry bows deeply. He can still feel the ghost of the king’s touch on his hand, and Harry squeezes his hand into a fist. The hand that was just held by the King of England as they danced together. Harry’s heart pounds in his chest so loudly that he feels as if all the court can hear it.

“Thank you for the dance, Lord Harry,” the king says.

Harry raises his head just enough to meet the king’s eyes. “It was my honor, Your Majesty.”

As Harry straightens, the king’s gaze lingers on him. Harry thinks for a moment that the king will say something else, but then he turns and walks back to the head table.

The musicians begin playing another song, and the room seems to explode with noise and chatter. It’s as if the entirety of the Great Hall held their breath during Harry and the king’s dance, and now they are gasping for air. The members of court begin dancing, but Harry cannot move. His feet are stuck to the ground, unable to believe what has just happened.

“Harry, oh my God!”

Harry turns around to find Niall and Liam racing towards him. Other members of the court eye Harry suspiciously, but he only finds bright eyed excitement in his friends’ expressions.

“Harry, you just danced with the king!” Niall exclaims in shock, clapping him on the shoulder. “What? How did that happen? Did you become the king’s mistress without telling us?”

Harry laughs, shoving at Niall.

“I didn’t even know the king knew who you were,” Niall continues, laughing. He pokes at Harry’s cheek. “But I guess not even the king is immune to those curls or those dimples, huh?”

Harry chuckles, slapping Niall’s hand away.

“That was incredible, Harry,” Liam says in disbelief. “He just picked you – out of everyone!”

“He did, didn’t he?”

Harry turns at the new voice and sees Louis walking up to them, a proud smile on his face.

“He picked my betrothed,” Louis says smugly, stopping at Harry’s side. He slips his arm around Harry’s waist and gives him a sweet peck on the mouth. “Because he’s good enough for a king.”

Harry grins at Louis. Louis’ weight against is side is warm and familiar, as opposed to how foreign the king had felt. The king had held him too tightly, his hands too large against Harry’s body. Louis, on the other hand, fits against him perfectly.

Niall and Liam roll their eyes before disappearing into the crowd, probably in search of more to eat or attractive lords or ladies to dance with.

When it’s just the two of them, Harry turns to Louis completely, his eyes bright and smile wide with excitement.

“Louis, I can’t believe that just happened!” Harry exclaims. “I can’t believe I just danced with the king!”

“I’m so happy for you, my love,” Louis replies, his smile just as wide as Harry’s. Their arms slip around one another, and they sway slowly together, contrary to the upbeat music.

“Why do you think he chose me?” Harry asks, his mind running so fast that he struggles to keep up. “I just don’t understand why he would. We had that one encounter by the pond, and while that was memorable, I don’t know why he would want to dance with me.”

“He probably saw what a talented dancer you are,” Louis says with a shrug. “Even with your big, clumsy feet, he must have decided it was worth the risk.”

“Oh, God, Louis, I was so worried I would step on his feet,” Harry confesses in a rush. “First I appear practically naked before the king, but could you imagine how horrendous it would have been if I’d stepped on the king’s toes?”

Louis laughs. “The holy day feast ending with the king and a broken foot would not be a good omen.”

“I would have to leave court immediately,” Harry agrees, despite Louis’ teasing tone. “If I have to flee to Wales, will you come with me?”

Louis pretends to deliberate the question. “As long as I don’t have to do any of the heavy lifting on the move.”

“You won’t have to lift a finger,” Harry promises, making Louis chuckle. “Louis, I just can’t believe that happened. I’m going to have to write to Mother and to Gemma. They won’t believe it.”

“You should write to my mother, too,” Louis says. “Although I am sure she will probably tell you that it means you’re too good for me and that you should marry a duke instead.”

Harry laughs. “Your mother is a very intelligent woman. She would understand that the king asked me to dance because he realized what an accomplished young man I am.”

Louis rolls his eyes theatrically. “The king probably wants to send you to the Tower for being so conceited. Not even the king is allowed to think so highly of himself.”

“Shh,” Harry laughs, glancing around to make sure no one heard. “Don’t say things like that. That mouth of yours will get us both in trouble.”

Louis grins. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll still visit you in prison.”

“I trust that you will, since it’ll be your fault I’m there.”

Louis laughs, squeezing Harry close to him.

“I’m happy for you, my darling,” Louis says quietly, words reserved just for them. “You deserve to have wonderful things bestowed on you, least of all the king’s good will.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies, matching Louis’ quiet tone. “Whatever good things may happen to me, I will always share them with you.”

Harry and Louis kiss sweetly, oblivious to the people around them watching and gossiping. They don’t stay in the Great Hall much longer, preferring to retire to the privacy of their chambers. There, they are free from any outside gaze, whether that be from members of the court or royalty.

The excitement from the dance lingers for days after. Harry has to pinch himself every so often that what happened was real – that he really danced with the king.

He writes both his mother and Gemma excitedly, relaying the story without sparing a detail. Niall and Liam tease him relentlessly about it, mock bowing whenever Harry enters a room and referring to him as Your Highness. However, Louis’ reaction is the greatest of them all. Seeing Harry dance with the king seems to have triggered something soft in Louis so that now he is a perpetual state of fondness and pride. Harry would tease him, but in reality, that’s the last thing he wants. The extra kisses and tender looks he receives from Louis always make his heart dance.

The following days, Harry doesn’t see the king. He’s not present at the morning meals or at the masques in the evening. Niall jokes that Harry was such a dreadful dancer that the king doesn’t even wish to be in the same room as him anymore. The court as well seems to all have forgotten Harry’s dance with the king, preferring to gossip about other lords and ladies.

All that changes four days after the dance. As Harry dresses that morning, mind still hazy with sleep, when a firm, brisk knock sounds on the door.

Harry’s brow wrinkles with confusion as he goes to answer the door. Louis never knocks, and Louis woke up early this morning to meet with some delegates from Scotland. It couldn’t be Niall or Liam either, since they always accompany their knocks by yelling through the door. Harry is not sure who to expect at such an early hour.

Regal and important, the king’s attendant stands before Harry.

Harry’s breath stutters to a stop, painfully aware of his loosely hanging sleep shirt and barely tied trousers that are slipping on his hips.

“Lord Harry Styles,” the attendant says, voice clipped and professional, as he holds out a small envelope. He bows as Harry takes it slowly before turning abruptly on his heels and marching away.

Harry stares down at the envelope in his hands, the envelope a rich, creamy color. Harry leans heavily against the door as he turns over the envelope in his hands. Harry cannot fathom what message the king could send him. Maybe Niall was right and the king thought Harry’s dancing was so dreadful that he is asking him to leave court. That is about the only explanation Harry can think of that truly makes sense.

With shaking fingers, he traces the clean, raised lines of the king’s seal. Unbroken. With a message for Harry.

As carefully as possible, he breaks the seal, opening the letter. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on the cursive script, disbelief washing over him as he reads the words.

_Lord Harry,_

_I greatly enjoyed your company at the holy day feast. Dancing with someone as skilled as you was a rare and treasured delight._

_Please honor me with your company at the Privy Gardens after midday meal. I believe you will find them most pleasurable._

_Henry R_

Harry gawks at the letter, reading the words again and again trying to make sense of them. He just doesn’t understand what they mean. Why would the king want Harry of all people to accompany him in the Privy Gardens, the king’s private gardens? Harry is not important enough to be awarded such an honor. He is only here at Hampton Court because of an invitation extended to all wealthy lords in England. It doesn’t make any sense that he would get a private audience with the king. And not even a private audience that he petitioned for, but one that the king exclusively invited him to.

Harry finishes dressing as hastily as possible, shoving the letter into his pocket. The letter doesn’t make any sense to him, but maybe Louis will understand it. Louis is much cleverer anyways.

As Harry hurries through the corridors, he wonders if he is being foolish. Maybe the letter is a prank, a joke. Maybe Niall and Liam sent it – their teasing about the dance has been relentless. It would be just like them to send a false letter to see Harry’s overexcited reaction. That makes more sense than the letter being a genuine request, but impersonating the king is treason. Not even Niall and Liam would risk committing treason for a prank. At least Harry doesn’t think so.

But no, it couldn’t be a prank because the letter had the king’s official seal. The letter, undoubtedly, was from King Henry.

Harry finds Louis in the clock courtyard, chatting with the Scottish visitors. Harry approaches hastily, catching Louis’ eye. Harry offers a polite smile to the lords and ladies, who pause in conversation at Harry’s approach.

“Excuse me, my lords, my ladies,” Harry says apologetically, but he is unable to mask the urgency in his tone. “May I borrow Lord Louis for a moment?”

The lords and ladies concede without argument. Louis’ eyes stay fixed on Harry, his eyebrows pinched in concern.

“Excuse me,” Louis says offering the lords and ladies a kind smile before following after Harry.

Harry walks away quickly, heading towards an empty part of the courtyard.

“Is everything alright?” Louis asks with concern, matching Harry’s stride.

When they are removed from prying and curious eyes, Harry stops abruptly, turning to Louis. “This arrived at my door this morning,” Harry says, keeping his voice low. He pulls the slightly crumpled letter from his pocket and hands it to Louis.

Louis’ eyes widen at the sight of the king’s seal, and he hastily unfolds the letter. His eyes fly over the short message, shock and confusion written into his features.

“I don’t know why he would invite me to the Privy Gardens,” Harry says before Louis can speak. “It’s an honor, of course, but I’m just confused. Why should the king want a private audience with me?”

“It is odd,” Louis admits. His eyes haven’t left the letter yet, still fixated on the words before him. He reads it again and again, trying to understand. “He says he enjoyed your company the other night. He probably just wants to spend more time with you. You’re funny and charming. Is it so hard to believe the king wouldn’t also recognize these qualities?”

“Yes!” Harry exclaims, dragging a hand through his hair. Louis finally looks up at Harry, and he doesn’t look nearly as perplexed as Harry feels. For some reason, that makes Harry feel more frantic. “Of course it is hard to believe! What do I have to offer the king that he doesn’t already have tenfold from anyone who serves him? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“People enjoy being around you,” Louis argues gently. “I don’t think it’s as nonsensical as you think that the king would also enjoy your company.”

“But have you ever heard of other members of the court being invited to the Privy Gardens?” Harry questions. “Because I never have.”

“No, I haven’t,” Louis concedes, “but I don’t always listen to court gossip.”

“I just fear it’s not for anything good,” Harry confesses. “What if I did something to anger him?”

At that, Louis laughs. Harry frowns at Louis’ laughter, but Louis only laughs harder. “What could you have possibly done to anger the king?” Before Harry can interject, Louis continues, “If you actually upset the king, he would just have you thrown out. He wouldn’t invite you to walk with him through his private gardens. No, I think this shows that you are in the king’s favor. You probably just impressed him at the dance.”

“You think?” Harry asks unsure.

Louis’ face softens towards Harry, and he takes Harry’s hand in his. “I do. I don’t believe this is some roundabout way for the king to exile you from Hampton Court. He probably just enjoyed your company and wants to spend more time with you. That tends to be how friendships work.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Me? Being friends with the king? Don’t be daft.”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t think it’s daft. Everyone needs friends in this world, even kings.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Harry says, but he still can’t help but find the idea of the king wanting to befriend him ridiculous. “I guess there is no other way to find out than accompanying the king this afternoon.” He laughs delightedly at that, unable to believe that the king really wants to spend time with him.

Louis grins, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I guess so.”

The Privy Gardens at Hampton Court are solely for the king’s use. With hundreds of people living at the palace, Harry understands the king’s need for his privacy. Even though the gardens at the palace are vast, it is nearly impossible to be truly alone. As Harry proved with his nap at the pond, someone is always around. People are constantly walking amongst the shrubbery, admiring the flowers and enjoying the sunshine. Harry always smiles at the lords and ladies he passes out of politeness or stops to talk briefly with his casual acquaintances.

If the king wandered through the gardens, seeking solitude and reprieve, it would be a lost cause. Everyone would seek out the king’s company, hoping for a private audience to entreat him for whatever cause helps them the most.

In the Privy Gardens, only the king and his personal guests are allowed entry.

Needless to say, Harry has never been to the Privy Gardens, but now, Harry finds himself walking towards the gardens’ gated entry. He had found it difficult to focus during the midday meal, his mind already out in the gardens, wondering what the afternoon will hold. His stomach had churned with nerves and excitement that had made it difficult to eat. Louis, Niall, and Liam were gracious and didn’t try to engage Harry in conversation, understanding that he was lost in his thoughts.

He had finished his meal in a rush, and then quickly went back to his chambers to dress in his finest clothing for his audience with the king. As he dressed, Harry had a slight moment of panic when he realized he didn’t know where the location of the Privy Gardens – he has no reason to know – but that was quickly sorted with Liam’s assistance.

Harry had then hurried out of the palace to the sounds of his friends’ well wishes.

The Privy Gardens are on the south end of the palace, just off the banks of the Thames. The gate is guarded by two men who eye Harry suspiciously as he approaches. Harry stops when he is still a short distance away.

“My name is Lord Harry Styles of Cheshire,” he announces, feeling awkward at referring to himself so regally. “I was invited by the king to join him in the gardens.”

The guards don’t react to Harry’s proclamation, staring at him indifferently for a moment. Harry is about to step away and claim that clearly he made some sort of mistake, but the guards step away from the gate, opening it for him. Wordlessly, they bow as Harry enters the gardens.

Confused by the interaction, it takes Harry a moment to turn his attention to his surroundings. When he focuses on the gardens before him, his breath is taken away.

All along the stone walls, lush, green ivy grows in tangles. Flowers bloom brightly and create the most intoxicating aroma. A fountain stands proudly in the center of the gardens, sculpted in a classical style with clear water flowing noisily from the goddess’ hands. Carvings of beasts also line the pathways, terrifying and imposing. The gardens are bigger than they appeared from the outside – the paths twisting and turning in multiple directions, hidden by tall trees that grow above the wall.

Harry does not see the king in the gardens, and he suddenly feels foolish and unsure of what to do. Is the king already in the gardens somewhere and Harry should go and find him? Or should he wait by the gate for the king to appear? He wishes Louis was here with him, or Niall or Liam, just so that he would have someone to stand with him so that he would not feel so awkward and out of place.

Harry stalls by a stone bench by the gate and decides to sit. He keeps his posture tall and formal, his hands folded in his lap. His eyes dart around the gardens, taking in the sights of the plants and flowers and statues. The Privy Gardens undoubtedly feel grander and more exclusive than any other palace garden. They truly were built for a king.

As Harry waits, he wonders what he and the king will talk about. Their conversation had been so limited at the dance, and Harry is not sure what they have in common. Is even allowed to ask the king questions? Inquiring about anything too personal would surely be disrespectful.

Of course, Harry could never ask the king about the subject that occupies all of court – his great matter. Although the king and queen show no proof of the troublesome rumors that circulate, the fact remains that the king is without a male heir. Harry can’t help but wonder why the king would want to spend any time with him when he has something so impossible and complicated to deal with instead.

Maybe Louis is right. Maybe in the midst of the king’s great matter, he needs a friend.

As Harry admires a bush of purple flowers, he hears footsteps approaching the gate. He stands hastily as the guards welcome the king.

The gate swings open, and King Henry strides inside.

“Your Majesty,” Harry says immediately, sweeping into a low bow.

“Lord Harry,” the king greets, his voice friendly. Harry rights himself to find the king smiling cheerfully at him. “Thank you so much for joining me.”

“I was honored by your invitation,” Harry replies earnestly. “Thank you for your kindness in extending it to me.”

The king smiles. “I thought someone who enjoys the palace grounds as much as you would take pleasure in seeing a private corner.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies, blushing slightly at the mention of how well the king knows the extent of Harry’s enjoyment of the palace grounds. “From what I have seen, they are truly magnificent.”

“I will make sure to take you on a proper tour of them,” the king says with firm decision. He says it as if it is nothing, while Harry spins at the proposal. A private tour of the king’s private gardens led by the king himself sounds like something Harry could only dream up in his wildest fantasies.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I would enjoy that greatly,” Harry replies emphatically.

The king nods. “Excellent. Do you have a favorite part of the palace gardens?”

“I find the maze to be very diverting.” Harry immediately blushes at his confession, remembering the multiple times he and Louis purposefully lost themselves in the maze. “And the rose garden is lovely,” Harry adds on, feeling as if the king can read his thoughts. “Especially now that it is in bloom. I have never seen such fine roses.”

“They are splendid,” the king agrees. He gestures towards some of the colorful flowers and to the lush green plants by the fountain. “I like to believe the finest plants and flowers in all of England can be found at Hampton Court.”

The king walks towards the bubbling fountain. “These gardens are my favorite spot in all of England,” the king muses quietly. Harry glances over to the great man, but the king isn’t even looking at him. Instead, he gazes wistfully at the fountain, seemingly lost in thought. “In the winter months, I can barely come here because everything is dead and it’s so cold. But now, now that it’s summer and the sun shines again, I love to come here. It is so peaceful.”

Harry nods, glancing back to the fountain which steadily pours streams of water. “The gardens are beautiful, Your Majesty. I can understand the appeal.” The king looks away from the fountain, turning his attention back towards Harry. Under the king’s gaze, Harry feels the urge to keep talking. “I have always enjoyed being out of doors. The South has much more pleasant weather than back home, so I have made sure to take advantage of it.”

Harry feels as if he is rambling and silently chastises himself. The king probably expects Harry to keep his answers brief. Harry should not be the center of the conversation. But with the king’s attention on him, Harry feels the strange urge to keep talking as if anything he could say would impress the king.

The king surprises Harry when he doesn’t turn the conversation back to himself, but continues to ask Harry about himself. “Where in the north are you from again?”

“Cheshire.”

The king hums and begins walking along the path. Harry walks with him, but he makes sure to keep a step or two back. He was never taught the protocol for accompanying the king on a leisurely walk – as he was never expected to be given such an honor – but Harry assumes it would be disrespectful to walk at the king’s side as if he were the king’s equal.

“Do you find the North very different from the South?” the king inquires.

Harry preens under his attention. The man before him is fascinating – handsome and wealthy and powerful and intelligent – but he wants to learn more about Harry. It’s baffling.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The weather is much more pleasant, but the land is much flatter. Not that that is a bad thing,” Harry quickly stumbles over himself to explain, not wanting to inadvertently offend the king over something as trivial as land topography. “It’s just different,” Harry finishes lamely.

“I have spent a bit of time up north,” the king muses. “The land is very different, although not as mountainous as Scotland.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “I have never been to Scotland, but I hear that it is much more mountainous than England. The North of England is somewhere in between. At least, parts of it are.”

“Is your family up north?” the king asks. They turn a corner to a tree covered path. The high afternoon sun dances through the leaves and branches, leaving intricate patterns on the path.

“Yes, all but my sister. She lives in Norwich with her wife. She was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Katherine.”

“What is her name?” the king asks curiously.

“Lady Gemma Styles.”

Harry doesn’t expect his sister’s name to resonate with the king, not like it did with Lady Anne. Gemma never mentioned private encounters with the king that would give him reason to know her name. As expected, the king shows no sign of recognition at Gemma’s name, but he does nod thoughtfully. “I will have to ask the queen if she remembers Lady Gemma.” A smile quirks the king’s lips. “If she is half as charming as her brother, I am sure the queen will remember her without fail.”

Harry’s face burns, blushing from his ears to his toes. He feels as if all the trees above him have parted so that the sun may beam directly on his face.

“Your Majesty is very kind,” Harry replies humbly. He bows his head in a combination of deference and gratitude.

The king laughs, as if Harry had just told a joke. “I speak the truth, Lord Harry. I believe you could charm yourself into anything you would like.”

Coming from the king, Harry doesn’t know what that means, but he knows it must be significant.

“I greatly enjoyed your company the other night at the banquet,” the king continues. Harry feels as if the king is far ahead of him, speaking about something that Harry cannot fathom. “I will have to dance with you more often.”

Harry’s eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. The king throws Harry a knowing smirk over his shoulder, and Harry struggles to find words. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

The king smiles as Harry, his gaze lingering. “I will have to ensure that a banquet is planned every night in that case.”

“Wouldn’t your feet be awfully sore?” Harry asks.

The king laughs. “It just may be worth it.”

Harry is unsure of how to respond, so he says nothing.

Thankfully, the king changes topics. “How do you like to amuse yourself, Lord Harry? How do you enjoy spending the day?”

“Um,” Harry searches his mind which has gone suspiciously blank. “I enjoy walking in the gardens and riding horses. Playing my lute. I enjoy reading in the library. The library has a truly wondrous collection.”

“It does, does it not?” the king agrees. “I infinitely prefer the outdoors, but there is something wonderful about spending a day in the library reading.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. What do you enjoy reading?” Harry boldly asks.

“The classics are unmatched,” the king says. “Homer, Aristotle, St. Augustine. French poetry as well is extremely pleasing. What do you like to read, Lord Harry?”

“I enjoy the classics as well,” Harry says, “but I also enjoy reading accounts of history and people. Lately I have been reading many of the accounts of sea exploration, such as the search for the Northwest Passage.”

The king hums. “I don’t believe I have read any of those.”

“They are fascinating, Your Majesty,” Harry says passionately. “Tales from all over the world. Places and people no one in Europe has ever even heard of. The journeys are dangerous but exciting, and the crews learn so much about the world. They haven’t found the Northwest Passage yet, but Ferdinand Magellan’s crew sailed around the whole world. I find that so incredible.”

The king chuckles. “You have great interest in sea exploration, Lord Harry?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies vehemently. “Lord Louis Tomlinson is the true expert on sea exploration and the Northwest Passage. He knows everything there is to know about it. He has told me a lot about it though, which has really piqued my interest. I greatly enjoy reading the accounts from the sailors and crew.”

“That does sound intriguing,” the king muses thoughtfully. “My advisers and I have discussed funding an exploration to find the Northwest Passage. We go back and forth about it, but I wonder. France has been funding voyages, and I know Spain has as well. England is the most advanced country in the world, and I wonder if we should be a part of that search for a route to China.”

Harry thrills at the king’s words, and his first thought is that he can’t wait to tell Louis. As excited as Harry is, he knows Louis’ excitement will be tenfold. “That would be extraordinary, Your Majesty. New lands are always discovered on these voyages, and with England’s resources, imagine what wonders we could find!” Harry’s head spins at the possibilities – new lands, new peoples, new resources. He remembers Louis’ words, and in that moment, Harry feels that England would be able to find the Northwest Passage without a doubt.

The king laughs at Harry’s enthusiasm. “Yes, it would be quite remarkable. I’ll have to make sure to enlist your help if I decide to plan a voyage.”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty,” Harry replies without thinking .The king raises his eyebrows at him, and Harry realizes with a shock of panic that he just disagreed with the king. He quickly recovers himself, “Lord Louis Tomlinson is a much more knowledgeable and informed resource than I. His uncle sailed on John Cabot’s crew on his second voyage, and Lord Louis has had a passion for sea exploration ever since he was a child. Everything I know about it is from him.”

“I believe I have met Lord Louis once or twice,” the king muses. “I didn’t realize he was so passionate about sea exploration.”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” Harry gushes emphatically. “He has read every book in the palace library on the subject. I have no doubt he could recite some of them by heart. No one has ever possessed a greater love and passion for discovering the Northwest Passage.”

“I didn’t realize I had a fledgling explorer in the palace,” the king chuckles. “Maybe I should make sure his skills and talents are put to good use.”

“I would normally say I can’t speak on his behalf,” Harry says, “but in this case, I can say with certainty that nothing would be a higher honor for him.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Lord Harry,” the king says with a laugh. “And I’m sure your friend will appreciate your petitioning on his behalf.”

Harry smiles, and doesn’t correct the king referring to Louis as his friend rather than his betrothed. He’s already disagreed with the king once on their outing. He doesn’t wish to tempt fate twice. In the moment, it doesn’t seem that important. Harry is much more focused on his excitement about the potential of England joining the search for the Northwest Passage.

“I always strive to participate in my friends’ interests,” Harry replies earnestly, “so I am very fortunate that I also find sea exploration fascinating. Just as I am fortunate that my friends enjoy music, so they don’t mind listening to me playing the lute.”

“Oh, yes, you will have to play the lute for the court sometime soon,” the king exclaims. “I’m sure that would be a marvelous treat.”

“I would be happy to play for you, Your Majesty,” Harry answers humbly.

They take a final turn in the garden, and Harry is surprised to find that they are back at the front gate. He had been so intrigued by his conversation with the king that he had hardly noticed the gardens around them.

The king pauses in front of the gate and turns to Harry. “You have proven yourself again to be a wonderful companion, Lord Harry,” the king says. “Thank you for accompanying me. I hope you found the gardens most pleasing.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies enthusiastically. “Please accept my sincerest of thanks for inviting me to accompany you in the gardens. I had a splendid time.” That word doesn’t feel like enough to capture how greatly honored Harry feels to have been invited to spend an afternoon with the king, but for now, it is the best he can do.

The king smiles. “Good afternoon, Lord Harry.”

Harry bows deeply, his hand pressed to his chest. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

The gate opens behind Harry, and for a moment, Harry wonders if the king had simply snapped his fingers for them to open. A glance behind him shows the guards at the gate, attentive to their king’s every wish.

Harry bows again as he departs the Privy Gardens, and he sees the king’s ghost of a smile.

The gates shut firmly behind him as soon as he is on the other side, and Harry can no longer see the king.

Harry looks up at the towering gate and the perfectly trimmed hedges that surround the gardens. At the top of the gates, a Tudor rose is engraved.

A disbelieving laugh escapes Harry’s lips, and he raises his hand to his mouth to catch it. He stares up at the gates for a moment longer, unable to believe what had just happened to him.

Eventually he tears his eyes away from the gates and with one glance back over his shoulder, returns to the palace.

Louis is ecstatic when Harry tells him about his afternoon with the king. He listens with bright eyes and a wide smile, kissing Harry’s cheek repeatedly with pride. He especially beams when Harry tells him about their conversation about sea exploration. His mouth hangs agape, his eyes as round as the globe he wishes to explore.

“Do you think he is really serious about funding a voyage?” Louis asks excitedly. “It would be so incredible. Our resources are much more extensive than France’s or Spain’s – imagine what England could do! And you really gave him my name?”

“Yes,” Harry says for the third time, delighted by his betrothed’s enthusiasm.

Louis kisses Harry’s mouth happily, his hands squeezing Harry’s hips. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Harry hums in response, kissing Louis again. He lets himself be lost for a moment in the sweet kisses, Louis’ beard scratching his lips pleasantly.

Louis pulls away after a moment, and Harry chases after his lips. Louis places a gentle hand on Harry’s chest, halting his attempt for more kisses. “I do find it a bit strange though.”

“What?” Harry asks.

Louis sighs, seeming to struggle for words. Louis’ hesitation catches Harry’s attention, making his eyebrows crease.

“It’s just,” Louis begins, dragging a hand through his hair, “when you received that invitation, I thought the king would actually have something specific to talk to you about. A private audience with the king without a purpose is so unusual. I thought when you returned and told me about your afternoon, that that reason would become clear. But it seems just as uncertain as before.”

“I thought you said the king invited me because he wanted to get to know me better,” Harry points out, faking offense.

Louis slaps at Harry’s hands. “I do think that to a degree. I think he enjoyed your company, but I thought something you two talked about had caught his attention. It seems you just made polite conversation, other than discussing sea exploration.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s true. He asked about my family and about what I like to do.”

“He didn’t request any favors or dig for any information?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “What information could I give that the king would require?”

Louis pauses, a troubled look on his face. “Well, you could give information about Lady Anne.”

Harry’s eyebrows crease. “What?”

Louis shrugs. “He has been pursuing Lady Anne, and you said he knew you are a friend of hers. Since she left so abruptly, maybe he was hoping you would tell him about her departure. Or maybe even how to seduce her; I don’t know.”

“He didn’t mention Lady Anne at all,” Harry replies, running their conversation over in his head again. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Did he mention anything about his marriage to Queen Katherine? Whether or not he truly believes it’s invalid?”

“No, of course not. Why would he speak to someone like me about it? I am practically a stranger to him!”

“Even so, it must weigh on his mind. Maybe he wished to speak to someone who seems like an objective party.”

“No one is objective when it comes to the king.”

“It was just a thought,” Louis replies. “I still find it odd that he invited you to the gardens for what seems to be no other reason than to get to know you. You are a person worth knowing, of course,” Louis adds after Harry makes a protesting noise, “but I still find it odd.”

“I find it odd, too, but it’s as you said. He told me he enjoyed my company.” Harry chuckles.

“He –” Louis pauses, uncertain. “He didn’t flirt with you, did he?”

“What?” Harry splutters, aghast. He laughs at the ridiculousness at the thought, looking at Louis with disbelief. “Of course not! Why – why on earth would he do anything like that?”

“Because,” Louis replies defensively, “because you’re young and attractive and he is tired of his wife and the woman he has been pursuing doesn’t want to be with him.”

“Louis, you can’t say things like that,” Harry replies worriedly, checking over his shoulder even though they are alone.

Louis doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes locked on Harry’s. “Are you sure he didn’t flirt with you?”

Harry starts to shake his head, but remembers with a flash the way the king had looked at him the day at the pond. The way his gaze had dragged over Harry’s body, appreciation in his eyes. The words get caught in Harry’s throat. He should tell Louis, but that’s not what Louis is asking. He’s asking about today in the gardens. Not a cursory glance from a couple weeks ago.

“I’m sure,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hands.

Louis holds his gaze and then nods. “Alright. But I still find it odd.”

“I do, too,” Harry agrees, ready for the conversation to shift to something else. “Maybe he is trying to understand the common person.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, Lord Harry Styles of Cheshire, you epitomize the common person in the realm. Please tell me how exactly one would shear a sheep?”

Harry snorts, shoving at Louis. “I’m sure I could figure out how to shear a sheep if I needed to.”

“Of course you could, love,” Louis says deprecatingly.

For that, Harry tackles Louis onto the bed, effectively ending that conversation for the rest of the evening.

The low sun is warm on Harry’s skin as he lounges in the grass. He listens to the gentle lapping of the Thames against the shore, to the birds’ cheerful song in the trees above him.

Louis rests next to him, a book in his hands. Their feet touch lazily, their shoes lying discarded next to them.

They had come outside right after breakfast. The day had promised to be warm and beautiful, and Harry wanted to enjoy it. They planned to ride their horses later, and maybe Harry would be able to show Louis the pond he discovered that day the king found him. Hopefully this time no one would find them, and they could have a lazy afternoon naked in the sun.

For now, Harry is content to lie by Louis’ side, quiet and undisturbed.

As Harry wonders if it’s too early in the day to take a nap, he hears approaching footsteps. He doesn’t think anything of it – assuming it’s just Niall or Liam joining them – when the person abruptly clears their throat.

Harry turns his head awkwardly, squinting in the sunlight.

Standing before him, for the second time in two days, is the king’s attendant.

Harry gasps when he recognizes him, and he and Louis both scramble to stand up.

To Harry’s surprise, though, the attendant does not address him.

“Lord Louis Tomlinson,” the attendant says in that same removed, professional voice he used yesterday. He holds out a sealed envelope to a wide eyed Louis. Louis takes it slowly, as if in a trance, throwing Harry a confused look. Then, just as he did yesterday, as soon as Louis takes the letter, the attendant spins on his heels and strides away.

“Louis, oh my god!” Harry exclaims, grabbing his arm excitedly.

“Surely this is some mistake,” Louis says, disbelieving. “Surely he meant to send this letter to you.”

“Maybe he wants to talk about exploration,” Harry suggests before shaking Louis’ arm impatiently. “Open it, open it!”

Louis turns the envelope over in his hands, staring for a moment at the king’s unbroken seal. Then he breaks the seal, and opens the letter. Harry strains his neck to read over Louis’ shoulder, the king’s elegant writing curling across the page.

_Lord Louis,_

_Please accompany me in my parlour this afternoon. Lord Harry Styles spoke highly of you and your knowledge of sea exploration, and I would like to discuss the topic further with you._

_Henry R_

Harry laughs in delight and disbelief. “Louis! How wonderful! The king wants to meet with you!”

“The king wants to meet with me,” Louis repeats in a distant voice, clearly shocked. He turns to Harry and his eyes are wide with amazement. “The king wants to meet with me.”

“He does!” Harry exclaims.

“All because of you, I have an audience with the king,” Louis says in amazement. “An audience with the king to discuss sea exploration.”

“Louis, this is so wonderful! It’s what you’ve wanted – to be able to talk with the king about funding an expedition. And now it’s not even you entreating the king, but it is the king wanting to have an audience with you to discuss it! I can’t believe –”

Louis cuts off Harry’s babbling by pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. His arms come around Harry, pulling him close. Louis holds the king’s letter in his hand by Harry’s head, the corner of the paper tickling Harry’s ear. Harry smiles against Louis’ mouth, melting into his arms.

“Thank you,” Louis says fiercely, pressing the words into Harry’s lips. “Thank you, thank you. This is all because of you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Harry says. “You deserve this.”

“Thank you,” Louis kisses him again. “I can’t believe the king wants to meet with me,” Louis says with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I can’t believe you told the king about me.”

Harry laughs with him, tugging him close. “As if I would be able to go an hour without talking about you,” Harry teases. “The king’s lucky I didn’t talk his ear off telling him about you.” Harry kisses Louis’ cheek, making Louis giggle.

“Maybe he just wants to tell me that he’s expelling me from the palace after listening to you drone on and on about me,” Louis teases.

Harry scoffs in fake offense. He pinches Louis’ hip, making him squirm away, ticklish. Harry snatches the letter from Louis’ hand, flapping it in his face. “It says right here he wants to meet with you about sea exploration!”

“That could just be a ruse,” Louis points out, laughing. “The king’s not going to write that he’s banishing me.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “What did you tell me yesterday? The king wouldn’t come up with some ruse to banish you from the palace. He would just banish you!”

“I guess that’s a good point,” Louis concedes, his eyes sparkling.

Harry laughs, kissing Louis’ temple, unable to resist. Louis’ arms come back around Harry’s waist, and they just hold one another for a moment, smiling into each other’s skin.

“You’re going to amaze the king,” Harry says, swaying back and forth. “He’s going to be so impressed that he’s going to send out a flotilla of ships this very day in search of the Northwest Passage. It will be found within the month, and it will all be thanks to you, Lord Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis sighs happily, his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says again.

Harry smiles, tipping Louis’ chin up to give him another kiss. “Anything for you, my love.”

The afternoon drags slowly.

Time seems to stand still as Harry waits for Louis to return from his meeting with the king. The clock in the courtyard seems to be broken, the hands of the clock never moving, the chimes on every quarter hour coming what feels like hours apart.

Harry doesn’t leave his bedchambers, as he promised Louis he would wait for him there so that Louis could find him quickly and easily after the meeting.

He tries to read, but the words swim in front of his eyes. He tries to play his lute, but his fingers keep landing wrong on the strings. Chords that he knows by heart are out of tune, the displeasing sounds making him grimace. Harry eventually puts aside his lute in favor of lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, listening to the clock chime and willing time to move faster.

Even though he has been waiting for Louis for what feels like hours, when the door flies open, Harry jumps out of his skin, his hand flying to his chest as if to catch his heart before it beats out of his chest.

“Louis, Christ,” Harry swears. “You startled me.”

“Harry, oh my God,” Louis exclaims, scrambling onto the bed to sit beside Harry. He sits on his heels, his eyes bright with excitement. He looks like a child, his happiness open and innocent, his excitement palpable and unfettered. “I can’t believe that just happened! I can’t believe I just met with the King of England! The whole time I was there, I wanted to pinch myself because it just didn’t feel real.”

“How did it go?” Harry asks, his excitement equal to Louis’. “Tell me everything.”

Louis covers his face with his hands, as if his smile is too big that he wants to try to contain it. Louis shakes his head with delight. “I was so nervous, Harry. I felt like I was going to forget everything I knew about sailing and exploration and the New World and the Northwest Passage. I thought he would ask me a question and it would just,” Louis makes a whooshing noise, “right out of my head.”

“That would never happen,” Harry replies confidently.

Louis blushes. “It didn’t, but God, I thought I would. It wasn’t just the king that was there. A couple of advisors and Cardinal Wolsey were also there, and he is almost as intimidating as the king.”

“Cardinal Wolsey?” Harry asks. If the king’s top advisor was there to discuss the potential for an expedition, than maybe the king is seriously considering it.

Louis nods. “He asked a lot of questions, but both he and the king already seemed very knowledgeable about it. Still, I was able to tell them about some of the more specific expeditions and explain the importance of finding a Northwest Passage to China. They seemed very interested.”

“Louis, that’s incredible,” Harry exclaims.

“I know,” Louis agrees. “We went to the library and looked at some of the maps together. I showed them some of the different writings from the explorers, what they saw and what they found. The king seemed really interested. I told him everything I knew.”

“Did the king say anything?” Harry asks. “Anything that might indicate what he thinks about an expedition?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not really. He said he was very interested in learning more, and I told him I would be honored to discuss the topic whenever he wishes.” Louis smiles and grips Harry’s hand. “The king said that I was even more passionate and knowledgeable than Lord Harry said I was. I can’t imagine receiving a finer compliment.”

Harry grins. “You deserve it, my love. I’m so happy that the king was so interested.”

“He really was,” Louis agrees. “And he’s so intelligent. He knew so much about trade and geography and sailing. I was so impressed, but he was so eager to learn more.”

“What did he want to know about?” Harry asks.

“Mostly about the Northwest Passage. I told him about the importance of finding a more accessible route to China, and he wanted to know what has prevented past explorers from finding that route.”

“Lack of supplies,” Harry states. “Ships sinking, loss of crew.”

“Exactly,” Louis nods. “I told him how John Cabot believed he had reached China, but how that has since been proven incorrect, which the king already knew. But China is believed to not be too far west from where he landed in Newfoundland, so if ships were prepared for the ice fields that dominate the route and brought appropriate supplies for a slightly longer journey, then I believe that China is easily reachable. And the crews would be able to stop in Newfoundland to regroup and restock on supplies, since there are settlers there now. It’s so simple; I know that England would be able to do it.”

“What did he say?” Harry asks.

“He said he didn’t believe it could be so simple, but that learning from past explorers’ mistakes would certainly give England an advantage.”

“That’s true. And even if England doesn’t find the Northwest Passage, future explorers would be able to take the knowledge we gained and be able to put that towards their own expeditions.”

“Yes, exactly,” Louis agrees. “I know it is a lot to hope for, but I just can’t help but think how incredible it would be. And to know I played a role in that – in bringing the world a little closer together – I can’t imagine anything more wonderful.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Harry says, pulling Louis into his arms and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “My betrothed is educating the king and working towards funding an expedition.”

“And my betrothed is charming the king and going on private tours of the gardens with him,” Louis also says with a smile. “What a pair we are.”

Harry smiles back at Louis, pulling him in for another kiss. “What a pair, indeed.”

Niall and Liam are understandably surprised to hear about Harry and Louis’ interactions with the king.

Niall, who meets with the king regularly to discuss the situation in Ireland, is not as mesmerized by their accounts of the king’s attentions, but is still happy for his friends. Liam, on the other hand, who would love to befriend the king, is baffled.

“The king has invited me on numerous hunts,” Liam says as the four of the play cards one evening. “We are undoubtedly friendly towards one another. And at the holy day feast, he told me that he had never tasted venison so fine and congratulated me on an excellent hunt. Of course I’m thrilled for you both, but I wonder why the king has never invited me for a private audience. We’ve had more interactions with one another –”

“Liam, you just want to move to the king’s inner circle because you’re tired of being friends with the likes of us. Admit it,” Louis teases.

“No, no, that’s not true at all,” Liam splutters in an attempt to back track as his friends chuckle. “I’ve just been on the edge of the king’s inner circle for a while now. Of course I would still spend time with you if that happened.”

“Relax, Liam, I’m teasing,” Louis says with a sigh, sharing a faux-exasperated eye roll with Harry. “Everyone at court would like to be in the king’s inner circle. You’re much more honest and sincere than most of the people trying to get the king to notice them. Of course we’d be happy for you if you became a close friend of the king.”

“Which is why this is so great for you two,” Niall says, nodding at Harry and Louis. “The king is giving you attention because you are good people. You’re not constantly petitioning him for some parcel of land or additional title. It makes sense that he would be interested in your ideas.”

“Thank you, Niall,” Harry says, genuinely touched. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of my meeting with the king, so if he decides to fund an expedition, then that would be an unexpected but wonderful outcome.”

Louis nods in agreement, but Liam still looks a bit off-put. Harry grins.

“But if the king asks to meet with me again for some inconceivable reason,” Harry adds, “I’ll make sure to mention you.” He nudges Liam’s arm.

Liam lights up like a spark catching to wood.

The Great Hall is crowded with people, the air as thick and dense as the dance floor. It’s a new week, which brings a new banquet. Harry doesn’t even know the reason for this one. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe someone just decided tonight was a good night for a magnificent feast, endlessly flowing wine, and dancing until sunrise.

Harry has been drinking and eating as heartily as the occasion requires. He sits at a table with Louis, Liam, and Niall, sharing stories and laughing while they enjoy the festivities around them. For the last half hour Harry’s feet have been tapping rhythmically on the floor, and he knows it won’t be much longer before he insists Louis dance with him.

The king sits at the front of the room at the head table. As always, he is surrounded by high ranking lords and ladies, laughing and chatting merrily. The king looks exceedingly handsome this evening, dressed in deep reds with extravagant beading and patterns.

The queen is not present, and Harry heard that she was not feeling well this evening. The king seems unconcerned though as he drinks and laughs, and Harry wonders if Queen Katherine just wished not to attend the extravagant but unnecessary banquet.

The king never looks in Harry’s direction, even though Harry is easily in his line of sight. Harry wonders if the king has forgotten about their afternoon in the Privy Gardens. It would be unsurprising – Harry spent the afternoon with the King of England; the king spend the afternoon with a low ranking lord who will inherit a bit of land up north. It wouldn’t exactly been as thrilling of an experience for the king.

“Harry.”

Harry turns his attention away from the king and back to his friends at the sound of his name. Liam sits across from him, eating a meat pie and looking at him expectantly.

“Have you heard from Lady Anne recently?” Liam asks curiously. “I sent her a letter the other day to inquire after her, but I thought you may have heard from her more recently than I.”

“No, I haven’t,” Harry says. He is loath to admit it even to himself, but with the excitement that came from the king’s attentions, he had forgotten about his friend who had left in the middle of the night in distress. “Not since her letter telling me she arrived at Hever Castle and was well.”

“You said he left because of her sister’s health, right?” Niall asks, sipping his mug of ale. “Do you know what was wrong?”

“I don’t,” Harry replies with a shake of his head.

“She didn’t say,” Louis adds. “Lady Anne was so upset that night that we didn’t ask questions, we just helped however we could.”

Liam nods, but Niall listens with a furrowed brow. He hesitates before he speaks, uncertain. “I heard rumors this morning that Lady Mary is well and was never ill to begin with.”

Harry’s brow creases, his head cocking to the side in confusion. “What?”

Niall shrugs. “It’s just what I heard from Lady Margaret, one of Lady Mary’s friends. She said she’d received a letter from Lady Mary just the previous week that made no mention of an illness or anything affecting her baby, certainly nothing that would require her sister to rush home so abruptly.”

“She may have just not wanted to tell Lady Margaret,” Louis points out. “As she has proven just now, Lady Margaret is a rabid gossip. Maybe Lady Mary didn’t want to share something so private because she knew it would be immediately spread all over court.”

“That makes sense,” Liam says. “Or maybe Lady Mary has recovered from her illness and is feeling better. Maybe it wasn’t as severe as Lady Anne presumed.”

“I hope that’s the case,” Harry replies. “Lady Anne was so upset. I hope everything is well.”

“Maybe her sister is well again and she’ll be back within the week,” Louis says hopefully. “I certainly miss her.”

Harry, Niall, and Liam all echo their agreement. As enjoyable as the banquets are, Lady Anne’s energy and humor and mischievousness made them even more pleasurable. Harry hopes Lady Anne will return to the palace soon.

“Do you think she’ll –” Harry begins, but is abruptly cut off when Niall and Liam’s eyes widen, focusing suddenly on something behind Harry. They sit up straight, putting their mugs back onto the table.

Confused by their reaction, Harry turns to find the king’s attendant standing behind him.

Even though this is the third time it has happened, Harry can’t help but still feel surprised. It feels so out of place for the king’s attendant to appear before him, although it’s beginning to happen so frequently that Harry is starting to feel guilty for not knowing the attendant’s name.

“Lords Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Harry Styles,” the attendant says. He doesn’t look at any of them, instead staring straight ahead. “The king requests your presence at the head table.”

Food tumbles out of Harry’s mouth as it falls open in shock. He hears Liam cough roughly and a quiet intake of breath from Louis. None of them move.

“Come on, lads,” Niall mutters and that seems to jar them from their stupor. Harry stands hastily, bashing his knee on the underside of the table. He flinches in pain, but forces himself to pay it no mind, straightening his clothes and making sure his cap isn’t lopsided.

The king’s attendant has already walked away, either too important or too busy or both to wait on them.

No one pays them any attention as they walk to the front of the Great Hall, but Harry is sure people notice. Every single person who talks to the king is always of note to the court.

Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall stop awkwardly in front of the king’s table. The king’s table is on a slightly raised platform, placing the king high above everyone else in the room. The four stand at the bottom of the steps, hands clasped gracelessly in front of them as they wait for the king to notice them.

When the king looks up and sees them, a smile spreads across his face.

“My lords!” he greets happily.

“Your Majesty,” they respond in unison, bowing together like well trained dogs.

As Harry straightens, he notices that everyone at the king’s table is looking at them, some with curiosity, some with disdain. The king looks at them with delight, as if his oldest and dearest of friends have come to visit.

“Come join us,” the king beckons. It is not a request, but a politely spoken demand. “We have wine and ale. Help yourself.”

Niall is the first to respond, expressing his thanks before climbing the short steps to the king’s table. Harry follows uncertainly, unsure of what else to do. Dining at the king’s table is a tremendous honor, and Harry feels as if this must be some grand joke.

The only available seats are at the end of the table. Just as Harry is about to take a seat, the king stops him.

“There is a seat for you here, Lord Harry,” the king says, gesturing towards a suddenly vacant seat to the king’s left. Harry watches as a disgruntled lord takes a seat at the opposite end of the table, shooting Harry a deadly glare.

Harry hesitates, casting his friends an uncertain glance. He would rather stay with them – familiar company in an unfamiliar situation – but he can’t disobey the king.

Harry catches Louis’ eyes, and Harry knows that Louis is aware what he is thinking. He knows Harry’s uncertainty and confusion, and Harry can see reassurance in Louis’ eyes. Louis gives him an encouraging nod and a small smile, as if to say, “We’ll be right here.”

Harry smiles back, and then steps away from his friends to take his seat at the king’s side.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Harry says gratefully. He keeps his hands in his lap, despite the king’s invitation to help himself to the drinks on the table. He feels as if he has no right to them.

The king smiles, holding his Venetian wineglass to his lips. “I thought you may enjoy one of the finest views in the palace.”

Harry looks out at the Great Hall and immediately sees that the king is right. At the king’s table, they are removed from the festivities. The hall is crowded before them, like freshly caught fish piled into a merchant’s cart. But from his raised position on the dais, Harry can observe everyone – the dancers and the spectators, the drunks and the gluttons. Instead of being in the throng of it, Harry feels as if he is watching a play. A performance just for him and his pleasure.

“It’s incredible, Your Majesty,” Harry says with amazement. “You can see everything.”

The king laughs quietly. “I can. Everyone can see me, but I don’t think they always remember that I can see them, too.”

Harry looks at the king with surprise, and he wonders if the king is referring to anything specific. If he is, he doesn’t say.

“I greatly enjoyed meeting with Lord Louis last week,” the king says. “You were right that he is incredibly knowledgeable when it comes to sea exploration.”

Harry smiles, thrilled that the king is complimenting his betrothed. Harry may be in an unusual situation, but he can always talk about Louis to anyone at any time.

“Yes, Your Majesty, he knows everything there is to know about the topic. I don’t think even the explorers themselves are as knowledgeable. I am glad to hear that your conversation with him was informative.”

“The most,” the king agrees. “Cardinal Wolsey was most impressed as well, and nothing impresses him.” The king laughs loudly, and Harry echoes, even though he knows little about Cardinal Wolsey. The king looks over at Harry and says, “Lord Harry, you need a drink.” He turns to a servant behind him, gesturing towards Harry. “Pour him some wine.” The servant hurries to comply with the king’s wishes, pouring Harry some wine in an extravagant glass.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Harry says, taking the glass from the servant and sipping it. The red wine tastes finer than the wine he had been drinking at his table.

The king doesn’t reply, instead looking at Harry with an even, contemplative expression.

Harry blushes under the king’s gaze, placing the glass back on the table and lowering his eyes in deference.

“You look very handsome this evening, Lord Harry,” the king says, his voice unusually soft. “I believe you are the most handsome man in court.”

Harry’s blush deepens, his cheeks as red as the wine on the table.

Harry has always believed himself to be fairly attractive, but once he fell in love with Louis, he sort of forgot that other people may find his looks pleasing. Since Louis thought he was beautiful, that was enough for him, and it never occurred to him to wonder what others might think.

With the King of England complimenting his looks, he doesn’t know how to respond.

“I am nothing in comparison to Your Majesty,” Harry answers, his voice trembling.

The king doesn’t respond, and Harry doesn’t dare look up to read the king’s expression. The noise of the hall seems to vanish, and all Harry can hear is the thundering of blood in his ears, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Look up, Lord Harry.”

Harry wishes to commit treason, to continue to stare at the ground until it swallows him up. Reluctantly, Harry raises his head, his eyes flickering over the king, not wanting to hold his gaze.

When his eyes meet the king’s, Harry stops. For a moment, it doesn’t seem as if the King of England is before him, but instead, he is just a man. He smiles, holding Harry’s gaze with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Have you met Lord William?”

Harry blinks, confused by the king’s question. The words run around in his mind, clicking as suddenly as a match being lit. The king gestures towards the man on his right who Harry recognizes as the king’s opponent at the tennis match he attended in the spring.

“No, Your Majesty, I have not,” Harry replies, feeling disoriented.

The king makes the introductions, and Lord William gives Harry a devilish smile.

“Ah, yes, Lord Harry. I have heard much about you.”

Harry blushes, wanting to know what he has heard and from whom. Surely not the king?

The king doesn’t give Harry the chance though, instead introducing Harry to other lords and ladies sitting at the head table. They are men and women whom Harry has only ever seen at a distance. As a part of the king’s inner circle, they are much too important to associate casually with Harry. But now that he sits at the king’s side, they smile at him and compliment him, insisting that they must dine with him or go on a walk in the gardens together.

Harry accepts their attentions and compliments graciously, but can’t help but cast occasional glances down to the end of the table where Niall, Liam, and Louis sit.

The three of them talk together, the lords and ladies nearby choosing to ignore them. Louis smiles at something Niall says, his profile in Harry’s line of sight. He looks more comfortable than Harry feels, and Harry knows it must be because of the friends at his side. Although they dine at the king’s table, the three friends are sticking close together. Whereas Harry is thrust right to the king’s side and forced to mingle with those who only care only about what their position next to the king can bring them.

“Lord Harry,” the king says, drawing his attention away from his friends. Harry looks at the king who smiles confidently at him, his hand outstretched. “Would you care to dance?”

Harry’s heart climbs to his throat. He’s aware of the eyes of the lords and ladies around him. Their gazes burn through him, everyone waiting on his response.

Even though the king has asked Harry dance before, the question still feels unexpected. As if it was a one-time mistake that would never again be repeated.

Regardless, the king is before him, asking him to dance once again.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry accepts, slipping his hand into the king’s.

The king smiles, the confidence he wears as natural as the crown on his head.

They stand, and Harry looks over to where Louis is sitting. But with so many heads turned in their direction and Louis at the far end of the table, Harry doesn’t see Louis. He sees Niall and Liam, but not Louis. He strains his neck, catching a glimpse of Louis’ familiar wispy brown hair, but then the king leads Harry around the opposite end of the table, away from where Louis sits. Harry casts another glance over his shoulder in search of his betrothed, but to no avail.

Harry’s attention is brought back to the king as he leads them into the crowd. Like the last time the king asked Harry to dance, the entire court fell silent and parted as the king walked through the crowd. This time, they fall silent and part not only for the king, but also for Harry, his arm looped through the king’s. It is as if Harry himself is royal, receiving the respect and deference from the court that is usually reserved only for the king.

The king stops at the center of the hall, turning so that he and Harry face one another.

“I hope you are ready to dance until you can no longer feel your feet,” the king says, his eyes shining.

Harry remembers the king’s words spoken during their walk in the Privy Gardens. His declaration that he would plan a banquet every night if it meant dancing with Harry, and that dancing until his feet were sore would be worth it as long as they were dancing with one another.

He hadn’t believed the king to be serious at the time, but looking at the king now, as he smiles with almost childlike determination and excitement, Harry knows that the king fully intends to dance the night away. And that as long as the king desires it, Harry will be his dance partner.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I am ready,” Harry responds, matching the king’s smile as the music begins.

The king holds true to his word. They dance everything from the pavane to the volta, the king daringly lifting Harry in the air during the latter dance. They dance until Harry’s breathing is fast and uneven, until his hair sticks to the nape of his neck with sweat. True to the king’s word, Harry’s feet are sore before the end of the night.

The king is tireless and his enthusiasm never wavers as he demands dance after dance. Harry and the king dance together and in groups, but the king always asks Harry, and Harry alone, to be his solo dance partner.

Harry loses all track of time, too lost in the joy of dancing. The music flooding the hall, the grace and freedom of the dance steps. The king is relentlessly charming, making Harry laugh and smile as they come together and separate, come together and separate.

The court does their best to keep up with the king, but Harry is unsurprised as the numbers begin to dwindle the later it gets. He hardly notices at first, the dance too exhilarating to notice anything other than the own happiness he feels bubbling in his chest.

Harry doesn’t notice the emptying hall until he thinks to look for Louis. As the king spins him around the room, Harry scans the hall for his betrothed. Louis is nowhere to be seen. Harry looks around the whole hall again, but sees no sight of Louis, or Niall or Liam for that matter. It is at that moment that Harry realizes how thin the crowd has grown, most of the court choosing to retire.

“Your Majesty,” Harry remarks, “it seems that the court doesn’t share your same enthusiasm for dancing.”

The king looks around the hall as if he too is just now realizing how empty it has become. He laughs, looking back at Harry. The king holds Harry closer now than he did at the beginning of the night, exhaustion making Harry’s body relax and forget his proper formal stance.

“I’ll send them all to the Tower,” the king says. “There’s no point of having a court if they can’t dance all night long.”

Harry laughs. “That sounds like the only plausible solution, Your Majesty.”

The king nods, his hand cupping Harry’s waist. For a moment, Harry thinks he feels the king’s thumb rubbing over Harry’s hip, but the feeling is gone as quickly as it came. Harry must be hallucinating from exhaustion.

“I am glad you danced with me all night,” the king murmurs, squeezing Harry’s hip.

Harry must not have been hallucinating.

Harry nods, words stuck in his throat. He feels uncertain once again, and suddenly wishes the hall wasn’t so empty. Wishes that the moment didn’t feel so private, so intimate. “The honor was mine, Your Majesty.”

Harry looks up at the king, and finds something burning in the king’s gaze. It is as if the king is looking right through him, can see his very beating heart.

The song draws to a close, but the king does not release Harry. He holds him for a moment longer, their gazes locked.

“Thank you for dancing with me this evening,” the king says, his voice soft enough that none of the remaining lords or ladies would be able to hear. “If my feet ache in the morning, it surely has been worth it.”

It is a clear end to the evening, and as much as Harry has enjoyed the dancing, he can’t help but feel relief. With the king’s heavy gaze fixed on him, Harry desperately wishes to be back in his bedchambers where no one can see him.

“Thank you for your invitation, Your Majesty,” Harry replies.

“Good night, Lord Harry,” the king says after a moment, as if he was expecting Harry to say something else.

“Good night, Your Majesty,” Harry replies, bowing deeply. The king remains in front of him for a moment, but Harry does not right himself. He waits until the king walks away, and only then does he rise.

The remaining members of court stare at him as if he is an oddity on display. Without the king at his side, Harry can feel the judgment in their stares. It was as if he was immune while the king was present, but now that he is gone, the court doesn’t hesitate to infect Harry with their animosity.

He feels out of place and exhausted, so without paying them anymore attention, he turns and leaves the hall.

A few people linger in the corridors, drunks singing and talking raucously together. Harry walks past them swiftly, wanting to hurry up to Louis’ chambers and tell him about the rest of the night. He’s not sure when Louis left the Great Hall, so he doesn’t know what Louis missed, but he wants to tell him everything. And Harry wants to hear about Louis’ experience at the king’s table and the excitement that he must have also felt.

Harry doesn’t bother being quiet as he opens the door to Louis’ bedchambers, half expecting to find Louis sitting at the edge of the bed, ready and eager to hear about Harry’s evening. Like how Louis waited for Harry after Harry’s walk in the Privy Gardens, and how Harry waited for Louis after Louis’ meeting with the king.

But when Harry opens the door, no candle light shines. The room is dark, but Harry can see Louis’ sleeping form on the bed. Louis is curled up on his side as if he was waiting for Harry to come back and cuddle up behind him.

Louis doesn’t stir even at Harry’s unintentionally noisy entrance, making Harry think he must have been asleep for a little while. Harry doesn’t even know what time it is, hasn’t thought to listen for the clock chiming for hours now.

Harry dresses for bed in the dark, the moon hidden by clouds. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle, not wanting to disturb Louis.

Harry crawls into bed behind Louis, laying his arm loosely over Louis’ waist. Usually he and Louis fall asleep curled against one another, but Harry doesn’t wish to accidentally wake Louis up. He places his head close enough to Louis’ that he can smell him, familiar and comforting.

As Harry falls asleep next to Louis, he doesn’t think about how it was another man, and not his betrothed, who held him all evening.

Harry awakens to the feeling of Louis shifting against him, stretching as he shakes the sleep from his body. An exhausted groan escapes Harry’s lips, the limited amount of sleep he had not nearly enough after such a late night.

Louis turns in Harry’s arms, blinking lazily at him.

“Good morning,” Harry says, his voice rough. He leans forward to give Louis a chaste kiss, but Louis’ lips barely purse to receive the kiss. Harry pulls back, confused.

“I didn’t hear you get back last night,” Louis remarks, his voice also weighed down with sleep.

“You were fast asleep when I came in,” Harry replies. “Didn’t wake up at all, even when I was accidentally too loud.”

Louis hums. His head is close to Harry’s, laying on his own pillow. Harry watches the delicate sweep of his eyelashes, the smattering of freckles on his cheek. He is beautiful.

“Did you have a pleasurable evening as the king’s guest of honor?” Louis asks.

The fogginess of morning makes it difficult to read Louis’ tone. Harry could almost believe that instead of a genuine question, Louis’ tone is mocking.

Harry wishes to ignore it, but he can’t help but defend with a chuckle, “I wasn’t the guest of honor. Don’t be daft.”

“It seemed that way to me,” Louis shrugs.

“Well, I had a very nice time regardless. The king is really humorous and is a very accomplished dancer. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Louis’ expression is uncertain. “I did, but didn’t you find it odd?”

“What?” Harry responds, feeling a pinch of annoyance. Exhaustion still tugs at his bones, making his mood irritable and impatient. Anytime he interacts with the king, Louis always comments on how odd it is. As if Harry himself, more than anyone, doesn’t find the situation strange.

“Well, the king invited all four of us to dine at his table,” Louis explains, “which is in itself highly out of the ordinary, but then he only spoke with you.”

“I know. I didn’t understand why he didn’t speak with you or Niall or Liam.”

“It’s strange, don’t you think?” Louis asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice, but also a whisper of hope that Harry will agree. “This whole situation. Becoming friends with the king all of a sudden. Don’t you find it strange?”

Harry reflects on the past few weeks and knows Louis is right. His encounter with the king by the pond was random and could have happened to anyone. But the king dancing with him, inviting him to the Privy Gardens, and dining with him – all those happened because the king sought him out specifically.

“It is strange,” Harry agrees.

Louis nods, palpable relief in his eyes at Harry’s agreement.

“At first, I though the king was just wanting to get to know you, but last night,” Louis hesitates, chewing on his lip. “Last night it almost seemed as if he was pursuing you.”

“What?” Harry splutters in disbelief. “The king pursuing me? That’s absurd!”

“I don’t know,” Louis responds defensively. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“I’m sure that’s the last possible explanation,” Harry says confidently.

Louis looks doubtful, and Harry starts to reassure him, but to his surprise, his mind is blank.

“I missed dancing with you last night,” Louis says quietly, his eyes wide and earnest as he holds Harry’s gaze.

Harry softens, his hand coming up to rest at the nape of Louis’ neck.

“I did, too,” Harry admits. “I love dancing with you.”

“That’s why I left so early,” Louis says. “I was hoping the king would eventually have another dance partner, but when it became clear that he only wished to dance with you – and for you to only dance with him – I came upstairs.”

“I’m sorry you felt that way. I would have gotten away if I had the chance, but you can’t say no to the king.”

“No,” Louis echoes. “You can’t say no to the king.”

“You can have all my dances at the next banquet,” Harry says firmly.

Louis smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Until the king cuts in.”

Harry doesn’t respond, but they both know it’s true. Harry can promise Louis all his dances, but that promise is void the moment the king wishes to dance with Harry.

Unsure of what to say, Harry kisses Louis, a silent plea to the universe that all will be well.

A little over a week later, his servant delivers two letters to Harry while he is in the gardens.

“Thank you, John,” Harry says excitedly, recognizing the handwriting on both letters.

Putting his book to the side, Harry opens the letter from Lady Anne first. He wrote her the morning after the banquet, inquiring about her and her sister’s health and asking when she planned to return to Hampton Court.

_Dear Lord Harry,_

_My dear friend, how I miss you! I was overjoyed to receive your letter and hear that you are well. Being home has been wonderful, but I miss your companionship. I find myself telling anyone who will listen about you. My whole family now feels as if they know you as dearly as I do._

_I am well, but I am not ready to return to court yet. Unfortunately, I do not know when that time will be. But please be assured that you are constantly in my thoughts, as are Lords Niall, Liam, and Louis. Please give them all my love and best wishes._

_Your friend,_

_Anne Boleyn_

Lady Anne’s letter is short and succinct, not really offering much information. Harry’s heart falls at the news that she will not return to court soon, but he is glad that she is well.

However, Harry can’t help but wonder if the rumors are true. Even though Harry specifically asked after the wellbeing of Lady Mary, Lady Anne made no mention of her sister. She does not say if Lady Mary’s health has improved or declined. She makes no mention of the baby. As Lady Mary’s and the baby’s failing health was the reason for her abrupt departure, Harry can’t help but wonder why Lady Anne chooses not to update him on the situation. She could have neglected to mention it, but Harry wonders if the rumors may have more truth to them than he originally believed.

If Lady Mary is in fact not ill, Harry wonders what could be keeping Lady Anne at Hever Castle and away from Hampton Court.

The second letter is from Gemma. Harry hasn’t heard from her in several weeks, and he smiles at the through of his sister. When his year at court finishes, Harry decides that the first thing he will do is go visit her.

_Dearest Harry,_

_I cannot begin to express my excitement about your interactions with the king! I never would have imagined when you left for court that the king would take a liking to you. I thought it much more probable that he would throw you in the Tower for your cheek!_

_What were the Privy Gardens like? I remember someone once said that there was a fountain made out of gold. I didn’t believe them, but I must ask – is it true?_

_However, as excited as I am for you, I must remind you to be careful. During my time at court, I can’t recall a single instance where the king bestowed favor on someone because he didn’t want something in return from them. While I am sure the king is charmed by your kindness and humor, stay on your guard._

_What does Louis think of the king’s attention towards you?_

_All is well with us. Elizabeth sends her love and wishes me to tell you that just because the king enjoys your company does not mean we’ll treat you like royalty during your next visit. Mother is coming to visit in a fortnight. I wish you and Louis could be here with us._

_My love,_

_Gemma_

Harry smiles at his sister’s words, her simultaneous teasing and protective nature makes Harry’s heart twist with how strongly he misses her.

His eyes linger over her warning to stay on his guard. Lady Anne spoke those same words to him the morning she left for Hever Castle. He wondered what she was warning him against then. Now, he wonders if Lady Anne knew that Harry might suddenly become of interest to the king.

Gemma’s warning that the king only bestows favor when he wants something also strikes Harry. He thinks back to his conversation with Louis the previous week, the morning after the banquet where Harry spent the night on the king’s arm. Harry knows that the king’s attention on him is strange, but he still finds Louis’ suggestion that the king is flirting with him to be ridiculous. Even so, Harry wonders if Gemma thinks the same thing, even if she did not explicitly say so. But what could the king want from Harry? He wishes he knew.

Harry knows he needs to heed Gemma’s warning and be conscious of Louis’ uncertainties. The situation is beginning to even make Harry feel wary. Especially with Lady Anne’s curious departure, Harry wonders if more is going on than he is aware.

When he returns to his chambers that afternoon, he writes responses to both Lady Anne and Gemma. He expresses his gladness that they are both in good health, shares a humorous story from the other day about a palace guard mistaking Niall for a trespasser, and makes no mention of the evening he spent at the king’s side.

“You’ll never believe what just happened!” Liam exclaims before Harry and Louis have barely sat down at the table for their evening meal.

Harry opens his mouth to guess, but Liam’s excitement apparently cannot wait that long.

“The king invited me to play tennis with him this evening!” Liam bursts, practically bouncing in his seat with elation. “In front of the whole court! He wants to play me!”

“Liam, that’s wonderful!” Harry replies happily, his eyes widening in surprise. He smiles at Liam, genuinely happy for his friend. “What an honor!”

“Well done, Liam,” Louis agrees with a smile. “It’s well deserved. Do you plan on beating him?”

“I will play fairly,” Liam declares proudly. “I believe we are evenly matched, so I will play my best, just as I am sure the king will play his.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if Liam beat the king?” Niall says wistfully. “I imagine it would be such a satisfying feeling – knowing you are better at something than the most powerful man in the world.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Liam says, flustered.

Harry smiles at him. “You’re a very talented tennis player, Liam. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you win.”

Liam blushes, Louis cheers, and Niall thumps Liam on the back.

“You’ll all come, won’t you?” Liam asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Harry says without a moment’s hesitation, Niall and Liam echoing.

Liam smiles with relief. “Thank you. I’m sure everyone there will be cheering for the king, so it will be nice knowing I have you lads rooting for me.”

“Who said we’d be rooting for you?” Louis teases.

Harry and Niall laugh while Liam gasps in indignation.

“Especially since Harry is the king’s new favorite,” Niall jokes. “The king won’t be happy if Harry throws his handkerchief at you instead of him.”

Niall and Liam laugh, but Niall’s words don’t sit well with Harry. With Gemma’s letter still fresh in his mind, Harry can’t help but wonder if this was exactly this she was warning him about. Stay on his guard. Stay loyal to his friends. He already left his friends behind in favor of the king at the last banquet. Is he failing already to be careful? Surely the king wouldn’t actually be upset if Harry cheered for Liam, his friend?

“Of course I’ll cheer for you, Liam,” Harry says firmly. His resolve is so strong, he wonders if he is trying to assure Liam or if he is actually trying to assure himself. “You are my friend; I hardly know the king. Besides, I agree with Niall. It would be wonderful to see you win over him.”

Liam beams, but Harry casts his attention to Louis, nervous to see his reaction. Thankfully, Louis smiles in relief at Harry, as if Harry said exactly what Louis hoped he would.

Harry smiles back, also exhaling in relief. He will go to the match and cheer for his friend and that will be all.

Liam insists that they all head to the Royal Tennis Court as soon as supper finishes. Harry, Louis, and Niall moan about the lack of necessity for them to arrive so early, but they go along anyways. The members of court haven’t arrived yet, which means they are able to find seats right at the front, unlike last time.

The Royal Tennis Court fills quickly, everyone rushing to arrive so that they will be ensured a seat for what will surely be a thrilling match. Liam changes out of his outerwear so that his clothing will be more comfortable while playing. He does some warm ups and stretches (Harry, Niall, and Louis cheering when he bends over in their direction, much to Liam’s embarrassment), but once the boxes begin to fill with spectators, Liam disappears out a side door to make his grand entrance at the king’s side.

The tennis court is filled with excited chatter, and Harry, Louis, and Niall discuss Liam’s chances of winning. Niall gambles that Liam would rather be sent to the Tower than claim victory over the king and potentially lose the king’s favor. Louis, however, stands by that Liam is much too upstanding and honest to purposefully forfeit the game. Harry is unsure, but he knows for certain that he wants Liam to win.

Harry looks over the filling crowds, seeing many familiar faces from court. Everyone wants to see the king play, but there is only one section of the spectator stands that is empty: the royal box. Queen Katherine hasn’t made any public appearances in several weeks, rarely even taking her meals in the Great Hall anymore. Rumors have been spreading like wildfire that Queen Katherine has fallen out of favor with the king. Maybe he decided that his marriage was, in fact, invalid, and the queen has removed herself from court out of embarrassment.

Despite the popularity of that rumor, Harry knows that is not the only possible explanation. Some speculate she may not even be at Hampton Court, that she may be in Wales visiting her daughter Mary. Some go so far as to wonder if she may be expecting another child, and has chosen to rest out of the public eye after so many failed pregnancies. Harry does not know what the truth is, but he is not surprised that she is not at the match this evening.

When the king and Liam emerge from the back rooms, the whole court stands. Liam has never looked prouder as he walks a step behind the king, his head held high with honor and delight shining in his eyes as brightly as a jewel in the summer sunlight.

The king pauses for a moment at center court, looking around the room, truly a king surveying his kingdom. His eyes scan the room slowly, but when his eyes fall on Harry, he stops.

Harry inhales sharply, caught on the king’s gaze. Like the last tennis match when their eyes met, Harry wants to look over his shoulder, to see if the king is looking at someone else because surely he is not looking at Harry. But then the king begins walking towards Harry, his gaze never wavering. Harry’s heart climbs to his throat, eyes growing wider and wider with each step the king takes. Liam watches from behind, frozen at center court. Harry feels Louis stiffen beside him, watching in helpless suspense.

The king stops before Harry, their bodies only divided by the wall of the spectator box. The king raises his chin slightly, a smile on his lips.

“Lord Harry,” the king says grandly, speaking just to Harry, but his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I play in your honor.”

Harry suddenly feels as if he is falling – that moment of suspension before he would hit the ground. When he is just hanging in the air, but he knows the unforgiving impact of hitting the ground is coming. There is nothing he can do to stop it, but for just this moment, before the collision, all he can feel is fear of the inevitable.

With the king’s eyes still burning against him, Harry only has one possible response.

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” Harry replies hoarsely, bowing his head in humility.

When the king doesn’t immediately walk away, Harry chances a glance up, too confused by the situation not to be curious.

The king still stands before him, a smile on his face.

“For your honor,” the king says, but this time, his words are quiet. Spoken just between the two of them. Then the king turns away from him and walks back to center court.

Harry practically drops into his seat, his legs giving out beneath him. He can feel all of the court watching him intensely, like an oddity at a fair, as they also take their seats.

He immediately reaches clumsily for Louis’ hand. He needs his anchor to hold him steady in all of this chaos. Of being chosen by the king to play in his honor. That is a privilege only reserved for the queen. Not – not for Harry. Not for a lowly, hardly notable member of court.

Surely Louis can’t be right. Surely the king is not pursuing him.

The king’s actions may prove Harry wrong.

Louis grips Harry’s hand in his, and Harry wonders if Louis feels like a ship tossed mercilessly in a stormy sea as well.

“Are you alright?” Louis whispers, voice low to keep from being overheard from any nosy eavesdroppers.

“I –” Harry struggles for words as he watches the king pick up his tennis racket, walking to the other side of the tennis court in preparation for the match. Harry notices Liam practically gaping at Harry instead of warming up, his concentration and focus now shattered. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Harry settles on, swallowing roughly.

Louis’ grip is as tight as a vice, as if he fears if he lets go, Harry will run away. Harry wonders if Louis realizes that he is holding on just as desperately.

“Me either,” Louis replies, his voice quiet. “I didn’t expect this at all.”

Harry watches the game helplessly, feeling as if he is removed from the excitement around him. He cannot focus on the game; he does not understand what is happening. He follows the lead of the crowd unthinkingly, applauding when they applaud, cheering when they cheer.

Harry can feel that Louis is just as distracted as he is. Louis keeps glancing over at Harry, a worried expression in his eyes, as if he expects Harry to disappear at any moment. Louis keeps their bodies close together, shoulders or legs touching at all times. It steadies Harry, and he feels as if he would surely collapse if Louis moved even a centimeter.

With all his strength, Harry wills Liam to win. If Liam wins, then no more has to be spoken about the match. The king won’t approach Harry again to proclaim victory in his honor. The whole incident may be forgotten immediately. Harry will heed both his sister’s and Louis’ warnings more firmly and make sure to distance himself from the king.

The match is fierce. Liam is true to his word and plays to the best of his ability. Harry thanks the universe that Liam is honest and upright – that he would never purposefully forfeit a game to save the king from embarrassment, however mild. The king and Liam are evenly matched; better so than the king was against Lord William. Harry wrings his hands together in his lap, watching the game with bated breath as he silently pleads with Liam to claim victory.

The universe does not listen to his prayers.

With a dramatic finish, the king is victorious. He wins by one set, just barely defeating Liam. The court cheers, always pleased to see their king as the champion they know he is. Harry’s heart sinks, and he knows the distress that he feels is written clearly across his face. He does not care of the curious eyes watching his every move. Let them know that he does not desire for the king’s attentions to be so firmly fixed upon him. His heart belongs to Lord Louis Tomlinson, not King Henry.

The king and Liam shake hands, and Harry can see both of them breathing heavily from the rigor of the game. Liam’s smile is visible across the court, and Harry knows that Liam is ecstatic, even if he didn’t win. Harry can’t help but feel proud of Liam, even if he is disappointed at his loss. Liam truly did play a remarkable game, and he almost did defeat the King of England. The match could have easily gone either way, and maybe any other time Liam would have won, but today, it was the king’s victory.

The court stands to applaud the two competitors. The king looks around at everyone with a wide smile on his face, but then he sees Harry and once again, his gaze becomes fixed. Harry’s hands freeze in the air as the king walks towards him, an air of triumph about him.

He stops before Harry, and the whole of the court falls silent, watching.

“Lord Harry,” the king says grandly, holding out his hand. “For your honor.”

With trembling fingers, Harry places his hand in the king’s. Harry bows instinctively as he does so, an act of deference.

But then the king, the most powerful man in the world, the man whose will is law and who answers only to God above, shows an unprecedented act of deference. The king leans down to their joined hands and presses a firm kiss to the back of Harry’s hand.

Harry can do nothing but stare in astonishment as the king kisses his hand. It is impossible. Harry should be kissing the king’s hand as a sign of his allegiance to the king. To acknowledge the king’s greatness, the king’s divine nature. To acknowledge that Harry is nothing before the king. For the king to kiss Harry’s hand, for their roles to be reversed, it is as if the king himself is committing treason.

It feels as if hundreds of years pass before the king rights himself again, a smirk on his lips. Harry’s skin burns with the wet imprint of the king’s lips. As the king holds his gaze, Harry’s heart ricochets throughout his body, thumping in his chest, and then climbing up his throat, before finally landing in the pit of his stomach.

“Lord Harry,” the king says eventually.

“Your Majesty,” Harry says quietly, keeping his head low.

Then without another word, the king releases his hand, turns, and strides out of the tennis court, his attendants following hurriedly behind him.

Harry exhales harshly the moment the king is gone. His hand is suspended in the air from where the king had been holding it. Harry withdraws it hastily, pressing it to his side, as if to hide the mark of the king’s kiss. When Harry looks out at the spectator boxes, he can see everyone looking at him, their gazes pinned judgingly on him. He doesn’t dare look towards Louis, too fearful to see what could be written on his face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Niall says under his breath to Harry and Louis, pushing them lightly towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry doesn’t have to be told twice. With Niall and Louis behind him, Harry turns and exits the Royal Tennis Court hastily without looking back.

“I think you may be right,” Harry says, distressed, as soon as he and Louis are in the privacy of Louis’ bedchambers.

Louis shuts the door solidly behind him, leaning against it, while Harry paces across the room.

“I think the king’s intentions with me – God, could he actually be pursuing me? He was pursuing Lady Anne! He was so intent on her! How did he switch to me so quickly?” Harry looks at Louis with a plea, but Louis doesn’t respond. “I mean,” Harry continues, turning away from Louis and pacing towards the window, “is there any possible way I could have misconstrued what just happened? That he – that he played in my honor?”

Harry casts a desperate look back towards Louis, but Louis continues to stand there unmoving and expressionless, his gaze on the floor.

“Please, Louis,” Harry begs. “Say something. I feel like everything is spiraling out of control.”

Slowly, Louis looks up at Harry, and Harry can see something akin to fear in Louis’ eyes.

“I was worried this would happen,” Louis says lowly. “Ever since the banquet, I feared that this is what would happen.”

Harry can no longer stand the distance between them. He walks swiftly across the room until he is standing right in front of Louis. He takes Louis’ hand in his and holds it to his chest.

“Louis, we must fix this.”

Louis finally meets Harry’s gaze. A thousand emotions flicker across Louis’ face as he searches Harry’s eyes. Harry’s heart hammers in his chest as he sees hurt etched so clearly into Louis’ features.

“Fix it?” Louis repeats, baffled. “He is the King of England. How are we supposed to fix it?”

Harry crumples in distress at the defeat in Louis’ tone. “I don’t know, but there must be a way.”

Louis laughs humorlessly, a cold and cruel sound. He looks away, walking across the room so that he is on one side of the room and Harry is on the other. When Louis meets Harry’s gaze again, his expression is cold. Ice forms in Harry’s veins to see anger in Louis’ usually gentle eyes. It is as if everything has shifted. To see Louis’ emotions suddenly bubbling to the surface – anger and confusion – makes Harry take a step back.

“Well, for a start you could stop encouraging the king’s advances,” Louis snaps.

Harry would be less surprised if Louis had punched him in the stomach. Louis’ cruel and accusatory words hurt more deeply, more sharply, than any physical blow could. At those words, Harry feels defenseless against the one person he was sure would never leave his side.

“What?” Harry splutters, aghast. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? I haven’t been encouraging him.”

“Yes, you have,” Louis returns immediately, as if he is flinging hot coals across the room. Each one lands against Harry’s skin, burning him, and making his own anger simmer in his veins. “You didn’t have to let him play in your honor. Or kiss your hand. You could have refused, but you didn’t. He’s not going to stop doing these things when you so clearly enjoy them.”

“I don’t enjoy them!” Harry replies defensively, his own anger and fear bubbling at the surface. “What was I supposed to say to him? ‘No, Your Majesty, I don’t want you to play in my honor.’ That would be ridiculous! It’s not like I asked him to do so.”

“You all but asked him to.”

“How on earth have I done that?”

“Why would he do so if he didn’t think his romantic interests are returned?”

“I have done nothing to make him think that. I have not sought his attentions or pursued him. I don’t know why this is happening any more than you do.”

“He kissed your hand, Harry!” Louis practically shrieks. “ _The king_ kissed _your_ hand! In front of the whole court!”

“I didn’t ask him to do that! I didn’t ask him to do any of this! You were so pleased when the king first began paying attention to me.”

“I was pleased when I thought it was harmless. Maybe I’m a fool and this is all my fault, because it is clearly anything but harmless.”

“Whatever the king’s intention, you can’t blame that on me. I want nothing to do with that. But you can’t suddenly decide you don’t like it when you’ve been so happy I’ve been spending time with him.”

“I can when he’s trying to steal my betrothed from me!”

“He’s not trying to steal me, for God’s sake. And even if he was, don’t you think I have the ability to choose for myself? Don’t you think I would choose the man I have already pledged my heart to? Even if you are an unreasonable bastard, do you really think I could ever consider anyone other than you?”

“You just said you can’t refuse the king. Do you really think he would let you choose?”

Louis’ words bring Harry up short, but he is too consumed by anger to consider the rationale in Louis’ fear. Instead of admitting defeat, Harry lashes out blindly.

“You’re just jealous that the king enjoys spending time with me instead of you.”

It’s as if all the air immediately leaves the room. As if a silence has fallen over the whole palace, abruptly and wholly. Harry’s heart hammering in his ears is the only thing he can hear, and it is louder than any canon, any drum that could sound.

“What?” Louis grits out, fists clenched.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Harry continues, lashing out desperately like a cornered animal. “You had been at court for a year and the king never noticed you. Then I come to court and am in his favor in a manner of months! You’re jealous because you wish the king was paying attention to you! You wish the king played in your honor. You wish the king had kissed your hand.”

“No, you absolute imbecile. I don’t care at all for the king’s attentions.”

“You sure seemed pleased when he was willing to meet with you about sea exploration.”

“Yes, but I never sought that.”

“Neither did I. How can you accuse me of the same thing?”

“Because the king’s attention on you is no longer harmless. He cares nothing for me, but he wants to bed you, Harry. And you have given him no indication that that’s not what you desire.”

“Other than the fact that I haven’t bedded him.”

“Have you even told him about us?” Louis demands. Within the anger in his voice, Harry can hear a sense of desperation. “Does he even know that you are betrothed? Have you ever told the king anything that would give any indication that bedding him isn’t what you want?”

“That’s not fair,” Harry defends. “I only answer questions the king asks. I haven’t told him about us because I’ve never had an opportunity.” Harry remembers briefly in the Privy Gardens how when he mentioned Louis as his betrothed, the king did not react. Harry had just assumed that the king hadn’t heard him, but now Harry wishes he had spoken up again.

“Never during all of the flirting did it occur to you to let him know that you’re with me?”

“I didn’t realize he was flirting with me, if that’s even what it was. I’ve only ever been with one person – you. It never occurred to me to look for warning signs because it was never a possibility to me.”

Louis scoffs, and that one sound cleaves Harry’s heart in two. The indifference, the distrust. It’s as if an entirely different person to the man Harry knows and loves stands in front of him. Louis paces in frustration to the farthest corner of the room, creating as much space between them as the room allows. It feels as if all of England is between them.

“Well,” Louis responds coldly, “that’s obviously not how the king sees it.”

“Louis, I –”

“What will you do when the king invites you to his bed?” Louis demands, cutting Harry off. “If you haven’t refused his playing in your honor or his kisses, how are you going to refuse his bed?”

“I am not some trollop who goes from bed to bed,” Harry snaps.

“I never said you were,” Louis replies, frustrated. “I am asking how you will say no to the king since his intentions are clear.”

“They are not clear,” Harry denies, but falters.

“They are clear to everyone by you!” Louis replies, unrelenting. “The king wants to bed you. Everyone at court knows it, even if you refuse to see it. It is only a matter of time before the inevitable happens and he invites you to his bed. The reason I am fearful is because I no longer know how you would respond.”

Harry feels as if a tidal wave has just washed over him, dragging him down to the ocean floor. He struggles to breathe, fighting to swim upwards, but he can’t move. No air fills his lungs. He is drowning.

“You think I would bed the king?” Harry asks in a low, scathing voice. He latches onto anger like a piece of driftwood that will save him from drowning. He latches onto anger in an attempt to mask his hurt.

Louis shrugs indifferently, and Harry can feel his own mask slipping. “That’s certainly how it seems,” Louis says coolly, tone removed.

Harry’s body trembles with rage, Louis’ indifferent and cold tone cutting through him like the executioner’s sword. Louis’ arms are crossed against his body, defensive and detached.

Harry cannot believe that the man saying such cruel words before him is the same man who has kissed him sweetly and whispered words of love into his ear. They cannot be the same person, but Harry knows it is. This is not his first argument with Louis – they can both be stubborn and strong willed, but they always look out for one another. This may not be their first argument, but this is undoubtedly the most hurtful.

Harry is suddenly consumed with an urge to escape. He doesn’t want to hear any more cruel and hurtful words, to feel them cut him so deeply. He wishes to no longer be a part of this disagreement. To put an end to this battle of hurt feelings and accusatory words immediately. To flee.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Harry says, stomping past Louis towards the door. “I don’t have to stay here with you. Not when you think so little of me.”

“And where will you go?” Louis demands, attempting to sound callous, but Harry can hear the hint of concern there.

“I have my own bedchambers,” Harry snaps. “Not that that’s anything to you. Although I’m sure you thought I was going right to the king’s chambers. If I don’t sleep here, it must be there. Is that right?”

Harry’s words make Louis backtrack, as if he wasn’t actually expecting Harry to leave in the midst of their fighting. His body blocks the door, blocks Harry’s escape. “No, Harry, that’s not what I meant –”

“I don’t care,” Harry says, his mask slipping so that he reveals more hurt than anger. He wishes Louis would move so that he could leave, but Harry doesn’t want to try to make him move. He thinks that if he touches Louis, he will crumble. He turns away so that Louis can’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t want to hear any more of what you have to say.”

Harry doesn’t wait to see Louis’ reaction, tearing open the bedroom door and all but running from the room. His tears don’t wait to fall until he reaches the privacy of his room; the distress of fighting with Louis overwhelms him too much to stave off any longer.

For the first night since arriving at Hampton Court four months ago, Harry sleeps alone.


	3. Chapter Three

Harry wakes up the following morning feeling cold.

His arms are noticeably empty, his cheek untouched without Louis’ hair to tickle it. He shivers violently, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders. Without Louis’ body heat soaking into his skin, Harry can feel the draftiness of the room cuddling against him like a replacement lover.

Harry groans, rolling onto his back and dragging a hand across his face. He had barely slept, mind too busy running over the hurtful words Louis had said, and the ones he had said right back.

Three times in the night Harry had gotten out of bed to go to Louis’ room and apologize.

The first time, tears had still been streaming down his face, his heart in broken tatters. He barely made it out of bed before remembering how Louis accused him of wanting to share a bed with the king before Harry changed his mind and laid back down, choosing instead to cry in the darkness.

The second time, he had been more resolved. The tears had dried, and he had even tried to sleep, only to find nothing but restlessness and guilt waiting for him every time he closed his eyes. But Harry changed his mind when a cruel voice in his head told him that Louis wouldn’t want to see him, that he would slam the door in Harry’s face.

The third time, Harry made it out the door and down the corridor, but he stopped when he heard laughter coming up the stairs. A mixture of sleep deprivation and the wound in his chest made him immediately imagine it to be Louis. That their fight had meant nothing and he had gone to the Great Hall afterwards to drink and laugh and not care at all about Harry. He had retreated to his room like a coward, and did not try to go to Louis again that night.

In the light of morning, Harry wonders if he should have gone to Louis. If going to bed with so much anger and hurt weighing on him like a cannonball could have possibly been the wisest solution.

He knows he needs to apologize, and he needs to do so soon. This argument cannot fester like a wound. They cannot avoid one another. They must talk to one another rationally and figure out a solution together.

Harry gets out of bed clumsily but with determination. He doesn’t even bother with proper dress, instead hastily throwing on an overcoat and shoes. He walks quickly towards the door, feeling as if each moment he delays is a waste.

He flings the door open and steps out of the room. He turns to shut the door behind him, but freezes.

Louis stands just at the end of the corridor, looking as terrified as if he was being led to the executioner’s block. His eyes are wide and his skin looks pale, but that only makes the dark bags under his eyes stand out even more, a clear sign that his night was just as restless as Harry’s.

They stand there for only a moment before Louis is walks cautiously towards Harry. Fear is still etched into his expression, and Harry’s heart is in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says immediately, stopping in front of Harry. “I shouldn’t have said such horrible things to you last night. I was just scared, and –” Louis takes a deep breath, hands suspended awkwardly in the air like he wants to touch Harry but he isn’t sure if he can. “– And I didn’t mean it at all, Harry. I trust you. I do, and I’m so sorry for making you think that I didn’t. I didn’t mean any of it, Harry. I didn’t; I didn’t.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand held between them. He can feel Louis’ fingers trembling, and Harry can feel the same uncertainty in his chest.

“I am sorry, too,” Harry says. “I am sorry for saying you were jealous. I know that’s not the case. This is a strange situation, and I don’t think either of us knows how to navigate it.”

Louis shakes his head. “That’s what it is,” he says pleadingly. “I just am so unsure of what is happening, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand.

Louis’ hand tightens in his grip as if he is clinging to Harry. “I forgive you, too.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, and he can see Louis’ shoulders sag as if a weight has been lifted.

Harry can no longer stand the space between them, so he pulls Louis into his arms. Louis comes willingly, and they melt against each other, arms tight around the other.

They stand there together, using each other to support their weight, but neither mention how even though they have both apologized, they are still in the same situation as before.

The next several days, Harry feels as if he is walking on egg shells.

It’s as if both he and Louis are afraid they will open Pandora’s Box if they so much as mention their argument. Even Niall and Liam notice something is off between them. Neither ever mentions the tennis match, even though normally Liam wouldn’t be able to stop talking about his experience with the king.

When Harry and Louis retire to bed in the evenings, they share a good night kiss, but they don’t touch one another. Harry wishes Louis would put his hands on him, to kiss him deeply and possessively. To leave marks etched into his skin to show that he belongs to Louis and Louis alone. But Louis doesn’t touch him, and Harry is too afraid to ask. He doesn’t know what he would do if Louis pushed his hands away.

Harry wonders if he and Louis should just leave Hampton Court. He thinks about Lady Anne, her abrupt departure in the middle of the night and then her deliberate ambiguity about when she would return. Maybe he and Louis should just return north and marry quietly as they originally intended. The King of England would find someone else to pursue, and he would no longer be an unmovable wedge between them.

As much as he wants to, Harry feels as if that is too drastic of a response. To leave Hampton Court like a thief in the night – what would he tell his parents when he returns? They would be shocked to see him home again and demand to know his reasons. They would be furious that he threw away his opportunity at court. He doesn’t know if he could do that to them. He and Louis only have a couple more months at court; surely he can just wait out whatever strange situation he is in.

Thankfully, it seems all of court is occupied with the end of summer festival happening in a month’s time. Jousts and sword fights are to be held, and both high and low born are welcome to attend. It will be a three-day event, and it promises to be one of the best festivals the palace has ever held. The king often participates in the joust, and Harry hears from other courtiers how the king has been busy practicing and making sure he is in top physical form.

The king has not sought Harry since the tennis match. In an effort to stay out of the king’s gaze, Harry keeps to himself. He chooses only to attend events that the king won’t be present for and declines invitations to events where it is known the king will be in attendance. He hopes that the king’s occupation with preparing for the joust will keep the king’s attentions shifted away from him.

Harry’s wishes are for naught when he is walking along the corridor one afternoon and comes across the king’s entourage. Harry stalls, feeling as if his feet are suddenly stuck in thick mud. He tries to retreat before the king can see him, but he doesn’t move quickly enough.

“Lord Harry!” the king calls, a smile on his face at the sight of Harry.

Even though Harry is halfway around the corner, he has no choice but to stop and approach the king. Pretending to not have heard him would be treasonous. Harry approaches the king with his head lowered, ignoring the curious eyes of his lords and ladies on him.

Harry bows. “Your Majesty.”

“Just the man I wanted to see,” the king says jovially. “Tell me, Lord Harry. Do you enjoy hunting?”

The king’s question takes him by surprise. Harry blinks. “Hunting, Your Majesty?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t care for hunting. When he was a child, he loved to go into the forest on his family’s estate and watch the birds fly overhead and marvel at the deer hidden amongst the tall trees. When he was thirteen and his father took him on his first hunting excursion, Harry cried for hours, not wanting to hurt any of the animals for sport.

But hunting is a gentleman’s sport, and he has been required before to go on numerous week long excursions into the depths of the forest with his father and other wealthy lords, all as a way of exerting their own superior status.

Harry does not enjoy hunting, but he’s not sure he can tell the king that.

“Hunting is a diverting sport,” Harry settles on, hoping it’s enough of an answer to placate the king.

The king doesn’t seem to notice his non-answer, clapping his hands together with a satisfied grin on his face. “Excellent. I would be honored if you would accompany me on a hunting excursion in four days’ time.” Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, but the king continues. “Several friends are accompanying me to my lodge in Surrey a couple of miles west of here. You would be welcome to bring Lords Niall, Liam, and Louis, and anyone else you would wish.”

Harry’s mind races, trying to figure out how to respond. With the king standing in front of him, Harry knows only one answer is possible.

“I hope you will come,” the king says after Harry has not responded. “The hunting lodge is one of the finest in the country, and there will be ale and fresh meat and good company.”

Harry nods his head, still keeping his eyes lowered. Even if he does not like to hunt, an invitation to one of the king’s hunting lodges is a substantial honor. It is well known that the king only invites his closest friends on these trips. They are his escape from the pressures of court life – a chance to get away and to enjoy himself without any expectation. To be invited is to be considered to be in the king’s inner circle. And if he can invite Louis, Liam, and Niall, he would be helping all of them gain the king’s favor. As well as keeping the king’s attentions off of him.

The offer is full of opportunity, one that Harry would be foolish to refuse.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies. “I would be honored to join you.”

Niall and Liam enthusiastically agree to come on the king’s hunting excursion. Like Harry, they realize that this is an invitation into the king’s inner circle, and that is not an opportunity to turn away from.

Louis, unsurprisingly, does not share their enthusiasm.

Harry tells them about the invitation at dinner that night when all of them are gathered together in the Great Hall. Harry purposefully avoids looking directly at Louis, not having had a chance yet to tell him about his accidental encounter with the king. He is fearful how Louis will react, especially since Harry has already agreed to go. He needs Louis to go too, to be by his side. If the king’s attentions on Harry are romantic, then maybe he will not be as forward if Harry is surrounded by his closest friends, not to mention his betrothed.

Maybe during the excursion, Harry will have a chance to tell the king about his betrothal. He hasn’t had an audience with the king since the tennis match, but if he has one during the hunting trip, Harry will be sure to tell him. Louis will no longer accept the excuse of the subject not being brought up. Harry must bring it up, even though he is unsure of how the king will react. It is the only way Harry can think of to remove the king’s attention from him.

Which is why Harry needs Louis to attend the hunt if he is going to successfully avoid the king’s gaze.

Louis remains quiet throughout dinner, allowing the other boys’ enthusiastic chatter to drown out his silence. Harry hears it anyways.

It’s not until they’re alone in Louis’ chambers that the silence becomes too much.

“I’m sorry I accepted without talking to you about it first,” Harry says honestly. “The king asked me right on the spot, and I felt as if I had no choice but to say yes.” Harry immediately regrets those words, remembering when Louis said that if Harry can’t refuse the king these simple things, he wouldn’t be able to refuse if the king made sexual advances. Harry hurries to continue, “And regardless, this is such an incredible opportunity for all of us. We’ve moved into the king’s inner circle. He may wish to discuss western exploration with you again. Or maybe he will feel more favorable towards Irish independence with Niall there. This is too important of an opportunity for all of us.”

Louis looks up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. Harry bites his lip in anticipation, desperately wanting Louis to agree.

Louis reluctantly meets Harry’s eyes, and sadness is in his expression.

“I don’t care about furthering my own interests anymore, Harry,” Louis says. “I don’t care about a funding a western voyage anymore. Not if you are the price to pay.”

Carefully, Harry walks over to the edge of the bed to join Louis. He takes Louis’ hand in his, squeezing lightly.

“I am not the price to pay,” Harry says gently. Louis looks at him uncertainly, so Harry attempts to justify his desire to go. “The boys will be with us, as well as the king’s friends. I will never have to be alone with the king, and neither do you. We will stick together always, and we will have a wonderful time. And besides, don’t you want to leave court for just a little while? Going to the countryside – being away from court – doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Louis looks up at Harry, his expression confused and his eyes searching.

“I have resolved to tell the king about our betrothal,” Harry says quietly. “Even if it does not come up in conversation, I will find a way.”

“You will?” Louis asks, sounding hopeful but uncertain.

“Yes,” Harry promises firmly.

They sit like that for a moment, and then Louis sighs heavily, leaning his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. Harry takes the opportunity to place a kiss on top of Louis’ head before nuzzling into the soft hair and breathing in Louis’ scent.

“I will come,” Louis decides after a moment, picking his head back up to look at Harry. “But only because I can’t imagine going a week without you.”

Harry’s smile overtakes his whole face. He cups Louis’ cheek with his hand, letting his thumb run against the flushed skin.

“Wouldn’t know what to do without you for that long,” Harry murmurs, thinking back to the year they spent apart and how he never wants to go that long without Louis again. Even a week apart sounds too long after being back together for several months.

Louis smiles softly but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Harry chooses not to think about it as his thumb swipes over Louis’ pink lips before leaning down to kiss him.

The hunting lodge in Surrey is nothing like the lodge Harry would go to with his father in Cheshire.

The lodge is a sprawling brick fortress, undeniably designed for a king. Great stone fireplaces flood every room with warmth, large furs covering the wooden floors and hanging from the walls, evidence of the king’s great success as a huntsman. The ceilings are as grand and as ornate as the ceilings in Hampton Court. But instead of having to share the space with hundreds of other residents, Harry only has to share with a handful of the king’s friends – no more than fifteen people and their servants.

The lodge sits deep within a large forest, the closest town accessible only by a singular road that winds up to the front of the lodge. Even the Thames is a considerable distance from them – nothing but narrow streams and wooded ponds surround the estate.

Harry feels as if he is a lifetime away from Hampton Court. The palace can feel like its own city sometimes – constant people and noise surrounding him. Even when Harry retreats into the palace grounds, there is always the possibility of stumbling across another member of court. One is never completely alone at Hampton Court.

But Harry feels, as he stands in front of the hunting lodge, that he could easily escape into the forest for hours at a time and never come across another soul.

The journey to the lodge only took half a day, but Harry still finds himself weary upon arrival. They had an early start, up before the sun to make the journey. Mercifully, he had been able to travel in a coach with Louis, Liam, and Niall. He had feared that the king may ask for Harry to accompany him, but the king prefers to travel in his royal coach only with only the closest in his inner circle.

Louis slept on Harry’s shoulder for the majority of the journey, but Harry had chosen instead to watch the countryside roll by out the window. He watched as the coach headed west and left behind the town of Hampton, the houses and cobbled streets fading on the horizon. The sun chased them, but never seemed to catch them. They traveled along the Thames for a while, the river guiding them. They eventually drifted away from the river, the carriage surrounded by nothing but forest. The sky was nothing but a canopy of leaves and branches above them, sunlight barely breaking through the thick foliage.

Upon arrival at the lodge, a servant leads Harry to the room he and the three other men will be sharing. There are two massive beds that look like they could fit six people each. Harry and the boys file into the room, gaping at its sheer size and grandeur. A fire blazes in the corner, leaving the room warm and comfortable. The servants deposit their bags on a table in the corner, hastily bow, and leave the room.

“Wow,” Harry says, sitting down heavily at the edge of the bed as he looks around the room. With its dark wooden walls and tall windows overlooking the gardens, Harry thinks this room could be nicer than his at the palace. “This is incredible.”

Niall snorts, plopping down on the other bed and leaning back against the pillows. “He says as if he doesn’t actually live in the king’s palace.”

Louis shoves at Niall. “Not all of us are actual royalty who grew up in palaces.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Only now you are going to acknowledge my status as a member of the Irish royal family? You should be kissing my feet.”

Harry throws a pillow at Niall, giggling when it lands with a thump against his face. “Here’s a kiss, Your Highness.”

“I’d lock you all up if it was up to me,” Niall grumbles, taking the pillow and throwing it at Liam who gasps in indignation since he has thus far been a bystander. “Surely this place has a dungeon I could lock you in?”

Harry laughs as Liam says haughtily, “You would release us before the evening was over. You would be too bored without us for you to pick on.”

“That’s not true,” Niall argues. “I pick on you because I keep waiting for you to get the hint and leave me alone.”

Louis laughs, jumping onto Niall’s bed and laying on top of him. Niall struggles beneath Louis’ weight, but isn’t able to push him off.

“Just for that, Niall, all of us are going to sleep in this bed with you tonight. We’ll make you sleep in the middle so that you can’t escape.”

“When you wake up, no matter where you look, we’ll be there,” Harry joins in with a smirk.

“I thought this hunting trip was supposed to be relaxing,” Niall gripes, limbs still flailing beneath Louis. “Instead you’re going to make me shoot myself with a crossbow.”

Harry snorts just as Niall finally gets some leverage over Louis, pushing him onto the ground with an almighty thud. Niall lunges off the bed and onto Louis like a pouncing predator, so of course Liam and Harry join the struggle on the floor, pushing and shoving and rolling around as they laugh.

For the first time, Harry believes that if he sticks with his friends, this hunting trip will actually be a success.

The first hunt begins the next morning at dawn.

The evening was spent in the hunting lodge with everyone gathered together in the main hall. A hearty feast had been prepared, showing that even though they were no longer at Hampton Court, they would still eat like royalty. Harry stayed mostly with Louis, Liam, and Niall. He kept his eyes turned away from the king, only politely greeting him when he arrived as protocol demands. Harry spoke with a couple of other lords and ladies that he met the evening he dined at the king’s table. Everyone was fairly friendly, speaking of their excitement about a week spent hunting and relaxing in the removed but comfortable lodge.

Everyone had retired to bed early, exhausted from the long day’s travel and wanting to rest before the sunrise hunt.

Harry and Louis had retired to their room together, curling around one another in their bed. Niall and Liam slept in the bed next to them, Niall demanding Liam hold him the way Louis was holding Harry. It took Niall and Liam a little while to get settled after Liam pushed Niall off the bed and onto the floor and jokingly refused to let him up on the bed again. Harry and Louis couldn’t stop laughing as Niall announced he was going to sleep with them instead and then proceeded to try to squeeze between the two of them.

Eventually Niall settled into his own bed with Liam, but then the noise started up. Niall sleep talked, mumbling incoherently all through the night. Liam, on the other hand, snored, and it didn’t matter how many things Louis threw at him, he could not be woken up.

All of that culminates in Harry not sleeping very well, despite the exhaustion from the day’s journey. Even when Louis falls asleep curled around Harry’s back, his nose pressed to the nape of Harry’s neck, Harry still feels restless. He stares at the wall, thinking about the king and the hunt and Louis. His mind feels as awake as if it has been dunked in cold water, and he finds it impossible to still it.

When Harry eventually falls asleep, his rest feels only momentary before he is awake again. The sun has not even begun to rise, but the hunting lodge is awake.

Despite the exhaustion still heavy in their bones, Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall dress quickly before they rush down to the den to meet everyone else to begin the hunt.

Harry leans firmly against the wall as everyone waits for the king to arrive. His eyes keep slipping shut and his head keeps lolling to the side. He’s not sure how he is going to stay upright on a horse when he feels like he’s about to fall over even with a wall to support him.

Not until he feels a weight press against his side does he jolt awake.

“Hey,” Louis says, voice gentle. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“No,” Harry denies, even though it’s an obvious lie. His eyes slip shut again, his head resting against the wall.

Harry feels Louis’ hand slip into his, squeezing it gently. “We can stay in the back of the hunt,” Louis says softly. “Let the king be the hero. We can just enjoy the ride.”

Harry smiles. “That sounds nice,” he says quietly. “After the hunt we can find a sunny field and go take a nap.”

Soft lips press against Harry’s neck, and Harry hums in contentment. Louis is doing a pretty poor job of keeping him awake, but Harry doesn’t mind.

“Whatever you want, my love,” Louis replies, their hands pressed close between their bodies.

Harry wants to reply that what he wants is to stay in. To let everyone else go on the hunt and to take advantage of a quiet lodge and a big bed. To sleep for hours with Louis and wake up with Louis and pretend that no one else is here at this remote hunting lodge in Surrey.

But before he can decide to recklessly give into the temptation to sneak back up to his bed and take Louis with him, there is suddenly a clamor of noise and the sound of the other men saying, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

Harry hastily turns away from Louis, putting some space in between their bodies.

The king enters the room proudly, no sign of early morning fatigue on his face or in his posture. His clothes are extravagant, and Harry wonders idly how his attire could possibly be comfortable for hunting. But, he supposes, the king’s clothes are not about comfort. They are about establishing power and dominance.

As if anyone would question the king’s power.

The fifteen or so other lords and ladies bow, greeting the king. Each lord and lady has at least one steward to assist during the hunt, making the room feel crowded, especially as all the men and women clump together to give the king the space he requires.

“Good morning,” the king replies, smiling at everyone. He doesn’t look nearly as tired as everyone else in the room. His voice is not heavy with sleep and he doesn’t walk as if his limbs are still heavy. Harry wonders if it is even possible for the king to feel exhausted.

A morning meal has been prepared for the hunting party to give them the energy needed to partake in their excursion. As Harry eats, he feels himself gradually awaken. The buzz of quiet but excited conversation about the hunt stimulates him. He listens as he eats, the other lords and ladies discussing strategies for the hunt while Louis complains to Niall and Liam about how noisy of sleepers they are.

After breakfast, the hunting party heads outside. Harry inconspicuously hangs towards the back with the other boys. He hopes that Louis is right and that they can stay in the back of the hunt. Especially since he doesn’t really care much for the sport, he would much rather let the king take the lead while he just enjoys the ride.

The morning sky is a light pink as the sun rises, rays dancing off the clouds. It will be the perfect day for a hunt – warm and clear. As the fresh air fills his lungs, Harry feels himself fully awaken. A gentle breeze whips through his curls. The forest around them is dense, and Harry knows they will easily lose themselves during the hunt.

The greyhounds bark excitedly, and Harry cranes his neck to seem them snapping at their leads. The stewards bring forward the horses, and Harry spots his steward, John. John walks the horse towards Harry, handing him the reigns.

“Her name is Chestnut,” John tells Harry, gesturing to her brilliant reddish brown coat. “She’s a good horse, my lord. Strong and fast.”

Harry pats her flank, admiring her impressive size and gorgeous mane. “Chestnut,” Harry murmurs under his breath. “You’re lovely.”

Chestnut whinnies at him as he scratches behind her ears. “She seems to take a liking to you, sir,” John says with amusement.

Harry chuckles to himself, accepting John’ assistance as he climbs onto Chestnut’s back. “I like her, too. Thank you, John.”

“My lord,” John replies, lowering his head and stepping away.

Louis rides up to Harry’s side, a smile on his face. Immediately, Harry thinks back to when he and Louis first met. They loved to go on rides together, chasing the horizon side by side.

Sometimes, Harry thinks he fell in love with Louis while on a horse. He remembers how he would ride into the woods, always meeting Louis by the stream. Harry would lie in the grass, gazing up at the clouds as he waited for Louis to arrive. And when he’d hear the soft _clomp-clomp_ of horse’s hooves, Harry would excitedly stand up to welcome the man he already knew he loved.

The same memories seem to flash across Louis’ face, fond and blissful, as they both recall a time when they loved freely. As Louis smiles at Harry, he looks young and happy. For the first time since their fight, Louis’ eyes crinkle at Harry.

“You look so handsome on a horse,” Louis says fondly.

Harry laughs, feeling a pressure in his chest that he didn’t know was there ease. “So do you,” he says, letting his eyes wander down Louis’ body. Louis smirks as he watches him. “Like a prince come to rescue me.”

Louis throws back his head and laughs, his body shaking with it. Harry chuckles to himself, unable to tear his eyes away from Louis’ joyful expression.

Their laughter dies down as all the men and women on their horses form a circle around the king. Harry and Louis follow their lead and join the circle. The king sits regally on his horse, his chin held high as he watches the lords and ladies gather around him. His eyes land on Harry, and for the first time since Harry arrived at the hunting lodge, Harry and the king look at one another. A small smile forms on the king’s lips before he looks away.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” the king says with a flourish and an excited grin. “Welcome to the hunt.” There are murmurs of excitement and cheers at the king’s statement. Despite his dislike of the sport, Harry can feel his own enthusiasm swelling. He looks towards his friends: Liam watches the king with wide, awe-filled eyes; Niall’s expression is set into one of determined competitiveness; Louis looks on in amazement, as if he never expected to be here. Which, Harry supposes, is true. Harry doesn’t think any of them ever expected that they would be invited on the king’s private hunt.

“Today, we are in pursuit of a hart,” the king continues on. “A huntsman has been out this morning to track one. The huntsman assured me that the one he found is an impressive beast. He has laid a path towards the animal, and we are to chase it down.” The dogs bark in enthusiasm, as if they know exactly what the king is saying. “We will have a grand feast tonight, my friends.”

The lords and ladies cheer, and Harry smiles at the excitement around him.

“May the best man win,” Louis says to Harry with a smirk on his face.

Harry grins back at Louis, his eyes narrowing in competition. “I intend to.”

Louis laughs, his horse close enough to Harry that he can lightly bump Harry’s ankle.

They both know that the hunt is not about victory. No matter who manages to chase down the hart, it will be the king who makes the kill. That honor is always deferred to the most prominent member of the hunting party, which in this case is, of course, the king.

Harry and Louis continue to tease each other with unheated competitive talk, until suddenly there is the sharp, piercing cry of the horn.

The hunt begins.

The dogs’ cries intensify as they are let off their leads. They tear into the forest, following the scents that only their noses are able to track. “Giddyap!” yell the lords and ladies as they follow behind the dogs, dust clouds kicking up around them as the horses gallop after them. The king, however, leads the charge, his body forward and focus intense and unwavering as he chases the hart.

Harry and Louis ride at the back of the group, although their horses keep at the same quick pace as everyone else just to keep up. Only their servants trail behind them; even Niall and Liam ride ahead in the thick of the hunt.

They ride deep into the forest so that the rising sunlight only barely breaks through the thick trees. Harry follows the sounds of the dogs barking and the calls of the riders up ahead. Chestnut moves gracefully underneath Harry, following his directions with ease and confidence. The sharp wind whips against his face and his curls, and the feeling is exhilarating.

However, Harry’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach when he hears cries ahead of him that the hart has been spotted. He had been so caught up in the excitement, Harry had forgotten his distaste for hunting. He remembers with a sick jolt what exactly this ride is for. It is not for pleasure, but for the pursuit of a defenseless being.

Harry can’t help but slow Chestnut incrementally, not wanting to be at the forefront as the hart is chased down. Harry has always enjoyed the camaraderie of the hunt, but he has always hated the actual sport. The kill. Whenever he has gone hunting before with his family, he has always refused to participate in the kill, even though it embarrassed his father. He just couldn’t bear it.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks at Harry’s side, his horse matching Harry’s slower stride.

Harry nods jerkily. “It just always makes me a bit sick.”

Louis watches him for a moment, their horses still moving in synchronization. “We can always go back, if you want,” Louis says soothingly. “I know how you dislike this part.”

“Which is the main point of the hunt,” Harry laughs without humor. Even though his stomach turns, he urges Chestnut forward. “No, it is the first hunt. It wouldn’t look good if we didn’t participate in the whole of it.”

“We’ll just continue to stay in the back,” Louis says reassuringly.

Harry nods, exhaling in relief. “I’m just going to think about the nap we will take later this afternoon.”

Louis grins. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry and Louis ride in silence for a while as the hunt continues to chase the hart. Harry knows this is the longest part, waiting for the hart to tire out before it eventually turns to fight back. That is when the king will go in for the kill – when the hart is at its most defenseless and fearful.

The land has more hills than the grounds at Hampton Court, and when they ride to the top of a particularly tall one, Harry pauses for a moment to take in the views. The world around him is lush and green – still vibrant with summer. He can see the land stretching towards the horizon, and Harry wonders for a moment if he could see London in the distance. Louis stops at Harry’s side and looks around with him.

“Reminds you of home a bit, doesn’t it?” Louis asks. “The hills. The land. Not as many people or buildings around.”

Harry nods. “It does.” He breathes deeply, the air filling his lungs. “Let’s marry as soon as we move back up north,” Harry says abruptly. Louis looks over at him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Harry meets his gaze evenly. “We’ve already had to delay it two years. Once we get home, I don’t want to wait any longer. I am ready to call you my husband, not just my betrothed.”

Louis’ smile overtakes his whole face. He rides up to Harry’s side, leaning across the chasm between them to press a sweet kiss to Harry’s mouth.

“We will be married the moment we return,” Louis promises, his lips brushing Harry’s.

Harry grins, pressing another smiling kiss to Louis’ mouth. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Louis chuckles quietly, but they are interrupted by another blare of the horn down the other side of the hill.

“Come on,” Harry says, pulling away reluctantly. “We don’t want to get left behind.”

“Yes, we do,” Louis says with a pout. He nods towards his servants. “We could send them away and spend the rest of the day up here.”

Harry laughs. “We would never find our way back to the lodge.”

“Even better.”

The horn blares again, indicating that the chase is closing in.

“Come on,” Harry repeats. “Let’s go before I actually take you up on your offer.”

Louis’ laughter carries on the wind as Harry sends Chestnut in the direction of the rest of the hunt. They ride down the hill, following the yells of the other riders and the howling of the dogs.

As they approach, Harry’s stomach turns as he catches sight of the hart. He is magnificent with a deep red coat and antlers as golden as a crown. Terror is evident in his eyes as the dogs keep him at bay, barking viciously.

The king stands before the hart with a crossbow in his hands, as the rest of the hunting party watches on.

However, the king turns at the sound of Harry and Louis approaching.

“Lord Harry,” the king calls, gesturing towards him. “Come here.”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, wondering what on earth the king could possibly want moments before the kill. This moment is critical – the moment when the hart has been cornered and has not yet started fighting back. Now is not the time for conversation. Harry doesn’t understand why the king would be summoning him at such an inopportune moment.

But he cannot refuse, so with shaky legs, Harry dismounts his horse. He keeps his eyes away from the hart and from the king, instead focusing on weaving his way through the cavalry of horses. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, also wondering what the king wants.

When Harry reaches the king’s side, only then does he look up at him.

Shock shoots through his body like lightning as he sees the king holding out the crossbow to him.

“Lord Harry, would you do the honor?” he asks.

The whole hunting party, the wind, the dogs and even – so it seems – the hart gasp. Blood pounds in Harry’s ears, his hands shaking at his side.

It is the law of hunting that the honor of the kill goes to the most important hunter in the group. It does not go to just anyone. Harry has never heard of that hunter offering the kill to someone else. Such an act of deference, especially by a king, is unheard of.

“Your Majesty,” Harry replies shakily. “I cannot –”

“I insist, Lord Harry,” the king says smoothly, having clearly expected Harry’s refusal.

“I could not take such an honor away from Your Majesty,” Harry attempts, his voice trembling. He cannot look over at the hart, too afraid he would see his own fear reflected in its eyes. He knows he is openly defying the king, but Harry can’t help but feel that he would rather risk treason that have to kill the beast.

The king had clearly not expected such insistent refusal, but he continues on good naturedly, “It would be my honor for you to make the kill.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Harry says quietly, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I cannot. I cannot kill the hart. I cannot bring myself to do it. Please do not ask it of me, Your Majesty.”

Harry’s words are openly defiant, even if they are spoken as a desperate plea. He knows that if the king asks again, then he will have no choice but to comply. He can tell that the dogs are growing weary of keeping the hart at bay and that he is only prolonging the hart’s fear.

The king doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Harry keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He can hear murmurs of disbelief amongst the lords and ladies of the hunting party. For the king to offer Harry such an honor – to offer him an honor usually granted only to the king – and for Harry to refuse, they must think him mad.

“Very well,” the king says simply.

Harry sees a swift movement out of the corner of his eye as the king raises his crossbow. Harry turns his head away at the sound of the bow being released, hissing through the air, before it strikes the hart. The hart lets out an almighty, agonized bellow, and Harry hears the bow release once again. He cannot look, but he cannot leave. The king requested his presence, and he cannot leave until the king dismisses him.

Harry tries not to hear the way the hart thrashes as it dies and the way the dogs bark unrelenting and ferociously, almost as if they are cheering on the animal’s death.

Eventually, he can hear nothing more of the hart. Harry fights a swell of nausea, wishing he had stayed at the lodge this morning. Or even that he had stayed at Hampton Court.

“For your honor, Lord Harry,” the king says.

Only then does Harry look up at the king. He watches Harry curiously, but he can see compassion in the king’s eyes.

Harry bows, unable to hold the king’s gaze. “Your Majesty.” His voice is nothing more than a croak.

As soon as the king steps away, Harry retreats. He makes his way blindly to Chestnut, not daring to look at any of the lords or ladies staring down at him in judgment. Louis is waiting for him as soon as Harry reaches Chestnut. Harry climbs shakily onto the horse’s back, and Louis reaches for him.

“Harry,” Louis says, concern saturating his voice. “Harry, are you alright?”

Harry shakes his head, feeling tears well in his eyes. “Let’s go back to the lodge,” Harry says with a plea. He can hear the servants surrounding the fallen hart to collect it and take it to the lodge. “Please,” Harry says desperately.

“Of course,” Louis agrees, not waiting for the rest of the hunting party as he turns his horse.

They follow the path back to the lodge side by side, but in silence.

Harry wakes up to a stream of midafternoon sunlight coming through the window.

Louis’ arm is wrapped around his waist, Louis’ cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. Harry shifts carefully, hoping not to disturb Louis, but he startles awake the moment Harry moves.

“Harry,” Louis says, voice gruff with sleep. He props himself on one arm, using his other hand to brush the hair off Harry’s face. “How are you feeling?”

The concern in Louis’ voice and the caution in his eyes immediately remind Harry of the emotional toll of the morning’s hunt. The shock of the king’s request, the all-encompassing fear of knowing that he could not do what was asked of him. He and Louis returned to the lodge ahead of the hunting party, not lingering a moment in the forest until they were safely at the hunting lodge. Harry had gone straight to his rooms, only falling asleep after Louis made sure he ate, a servant bringing up a plate from the kitchens.

“Better,” Harry replies slowly. He sees palpable relief cross Louis’ expression, a soft exhale escaping his lips. “I – I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know why I became so upset.”

“Of course you had every reason to be upset,” Louis answers. Harry can hear anger in Louis’ tone, but he knows it’s not directed at him. “You didn’t even want to participate in the hunt. You’ve never enjoyed hunting. To be asked to make the kill – and to feel like you had no choice because it was the king asking you to do so – of course it upset you.”

“I know, just –” Harry drags his hands across his face. “It was so humiliating. Refusing the king like that – when any other man or woman would have gladly accepted –”

“The king should not have asked that of you,” Louis insists firmly. “It is the custom that the king makes the kill. For him to defer that to you –” Louis shakes his head. “He should not have asked that.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, reflecting on Louis’ words. Harry knows that he is right. The king defied a centuries old custom by asking Harry to make the kill. With Harry so unprepared to do so, of course it had been upsetting.

“He should not have,” Harry repeats, willing himself to believe it. “I couldn’t do it, Louis. I couldn’t.”

“I know, my love,” Louis says soothingly, taking Harry’s hand in his and squeezing. “I know.”

They are quiet for a moment, watching one another.

“We did learn one thing, though,” Harry says after a moment, toying with Louis’ fingers.

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “And that is?”

Harry meets Louis’ eyes. “It is possible to say no to the king.” Louis’ eyes widen at his words, and Harry squeezes his hand. “And I have.”

“You have,” Louis repeats with awe in his voice, squeezing Harry’s hand back. Louis smiles. “You have.”

Louis leans down to kiss Harry, smiling.

“Where is everyone else?” Harry asks as Louis pulls away.

Louis shrugs. “Niall and Liam came to check on you when you first fell asleep. They said they’d be in the gardens and to let them know if you need anything.”

Harry smiles. “That was thoughtful of them.” He pauses before he asks, “How about everyone else?”

“I’m not sure,” Louis replies. “Probably resting or archery. Liam said some of them were discussing it.”

Harry hums, his eyes slipping shut for a moment. The hunting lodge is relatively quiet, only the sound of birds singing and the low murmur of voices in the gardens can be heard.

“A walk in the gardens sounds lovely,” Harry muses. “They look beautiful, and we haven’t had a chance for a proper look yet. I would like to see them.”

“Shall we go before supper?” Louis asks agreeably. “I think the fresh air would do wonders.” His fingers are light on Harry’s cheekbone.

Harry nods, kissing Louis again.

They linger in bed only a moment longer before dressing. Harry’s stomach rumbles, and he knows a hearty meal that evening will help fully restore him.

The gardens of the lodge are as beautiful as, but quainter than, the gardens at Hampton Court. They don’t seem as if they disappear on the horizon, an endless maze to explore and become lost in. Instead, they feel like the gardens at a private family estate. Familiar but still magnificent.

There are hedge lines paths and a narrow stream with an ivy covered bridge. The sun shines dully onto the earth, a crisp breeze blowing through. Even though autumn is in the air, flowers still bloom along the paths, filling the gardens with a rich and pleasing fragrance.

Harry inhales deeply, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. The sun warms his skin, the breeze rustles his curls.

“These remind me of the gardens at home,” Louis muses as he and Harry make their way along the path. “Not overly ornate, but still beautiful.”

Harry nods, thinking of the gardens at the Tomlinson family estate. He and Louis had spent so many hours there that Harry knows them as well as his own family’s.

“I miss them,” Harry says, lost in memories. “The stream and the oak tree by the edge of the forest.”

Louis grins. “We spent hours beneath that oak tree, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Harry replies with a blush, remembering the exact nature of those activities done under the tree, just out of sight from the main house.

“Maybe we can sneak away here sometime,” Louis muses in a devilish voice, fingers lightly brushing the back of Harry’s hand. “Find a field or the bank of a stream. Make love like we did when we first fell in love.”

Harry’s blush deepens, his pulse quickens. “That sounds like heaven.”

Louis is about to continue when they turn a corner and come across Niall and Liam resting in the grass. Niall’s cap is down over his eyes as he breathes deeply, while Liam has a book propped open in his lap.

Louis looks over at Harry before rolling his eyes dramatically. Harry giggles, and Louis clears his throat loudly.

Liam glances over his shoulder and then scrambles to get up when he sees Harry and Louis. Liam swats at Niall, who awakens with a jerk.

“Harry, how are you feeling?” Liam asks, concern saturating his voice.

At the mention of Harry’s name, Niall comes awake fully, hurrying to stand up. “Harry, mate,” he says, clearing his throat roughly. “How are you?”

“I’m better, thank you, lads,” Harry says with a reassuring smile. “Slept for a little bit. Thought I would get some fresh air.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Liam says, Niall agreeing.

Harry nods, and then the four of them stand in silence for a moment before Niall speaks up, “I can’t believe the king asked you to do that. He broke every single royal protocol by asking you to make the kill. It wasn’t fair for him to put you on the spot like that.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Harry nods. “But I guess if anyone can break the royal protocol, it’s the king.”

“Regardless,” Niall says dismissively. “To do so in front of everyone, when you clearly weren’t expecting it and did not want to, it – it was cruel. Even if he meant it as a compliment. It was cruel.”

“A compliment?” Harry repeats, confused. “How was that a compliment?”

Niall’s brow furrows, looking just as confused as Harry feels. “He – he deferred to you,” Niall says slowly, as if speaking too quickly will confuse Harry. “An honor reserved only for the most prominent member of the hunting party. No one else. But he asked you to do it. By deferring to you,” Niall swallows, his eyes darting worriedly to Louis and back, “he was elevating you as the highest member of court.”

“But why would he do that?”

Niall glances towards Louis before responding hesitantly, “It was a gesture of good will. A romantic gesture.”

Harry’s confusion transforms to panicked disbelief. “Surely not,” he protests desperately. “That would be ridiculous.” He glances at Liam for support, but Liam looks distressed, glancing away from Harry.

“I,” Louis begins, Harry turning sharply to look at him. Louis meets his gaze evenly, but there is pain in Louis’ expression, as if he would rather hold back his words. “I do not know why else he would have done it. To extend that honor to you is significant.”

Harry shakes his head, not wanting to hear or believe their words. “That cannot be it.”

But even as he argues against them, Harry knows that Louis and Niall’s words hold truth to them, even if only a miniscule amount. The king deferring to Harry could only be perceived as the king bestowing a great honor onto him. Even if Harry does not wish to see it that way, it is just as significant as when the king played a tennis match in Harry’s honor and then kissed his hand afterwards. These actions single Harry out and place him above the other members of court, even if Harry does not desire it. If the king was pursuing him, these actions would be attempts to win his heart.

“Regardless,” Liam speaks up. “I doubt the king will ask again, Harry. Putting you on the spot like that may have been unfair, but the king surely would not do it again since it made you so uncomfortable. He is not a cruel man.”

“He would not have asked Harry at all then,” Louis snaps abruptly, his body turned protectively towards Harry. “If he was not cruel, he would not have asked him something like that without being sure that he would want to first. Not everyone enjoys hunting. Just because the king enjoys it does not mean everyone does.”

“Don’t speak so loudly,” Harry says fearfully, gripping Louis’ hand and looking around nervously.

Louis pulls his arm jerkily away from Harry. “I will say what I wish,” Louis returns coolly. “The king cannot treat you this way.”

“The king can treat anyone whatever way he wishes,” Niall returns firmly, his gaze fixed on Louis. “It’s not ideal, but it is the reality.”

Louis clearly bristles, and Harry feels the unexpected tension shift so that it is no longer centered on their frustration with the king, but frustration with one another.

“You expect me to just stand idly by as the king treats Harry with such unkindness?” Louis demands.

Harry feels himself ruffle at being spoken about as if he is not there. However, Harry wishes to deflate the argument. “Louis, please. I am not some defenseless being. I know you want to protect me, but you must be careful as well.”

Louis doesn’t respond, his face turned defiantly away. Carefully, Harry reaches for Louis’ hand, taking it in his and squeezing it.

“It is over,” Harry says softly. “I think Liam is right. The king will hopefully not ask it of me again.”

Louis turns to look at Harry reluctantly. Harry can see the defiance in the firm set of his mouth, and Harry knows this discussion is far from o ver.

“I will not stand idly by if he does,” Louis says, a warning in his voice. Harry knows the warning is not directed towards him, but the absent king. “I am sorry I did before.”

“You have no reason to apologize,” Harry reassures him firmly. “You had no way of knowing what he would ask.”

Louis nods jerkily, as if he is reluctant to believe Harry.

“Should we go watch the archery?” Liam suggests after a moment in an attempt to end the heated conversation. “I hear that Lord Arthur is so dreadful that he doesn’t even know which way to hold the bow.”

Harry laughs, albeit a bit strained, but is nevertheless grateful for Liam’s suggestion. “That sounds wonderful.”

Harry looks to Louis, unsure if he will want to join, but Louis nods as well. “Let’s go.”

The four finish their loop around the gardens before crossing the ivy covered bridge to an adjacent field where the archery is taking place. Several lords and ladies stand with a longbow, their servants nearby with their quiver filled with arrows. Four targets are set up on the far side of the field, each filled with a couple arrows each. To the side of the field are wooden chairs set out so that the rest of the group can watch the sport. The king sits in the middle of all of them, his chair the largest and most ornate.

Harry, Louis, Liam, and Niall bow as they approach, servants hurrying to bring them chairs so that they may too watch the archery. Harry keeps his eyes lowered, not looking towards the king as he takes his seat between Louis and Liam.

Harry has always enjoyed archery – the intense focus and strength it requires to be an accurate marksman. He watches in amusement as the lords and ladies compete, applauding as Lady Alexandra sends three arrows perfectly into the center of the target while Lord Arthur proves to be just as disastrous as Liam predicted, sending each arrow into the ground closer to him than the target.

As diverting as the afternoon is, Harry finds that he cannot relax. Louis is restless next to him, his mood clearly still sour. Harry can feel Louis continuously watching him with a worried and almost mistrustful expression, as if he is some helpless child about to wander away from their parent at any moment. Louis’ perpetually watchful gaze unsettles Harry in a way that reminds him of the king’s untimely request that morning.

His stress is only heightened when the king stands and makes his way over to Harry.

Harry stands quickly, bowing his head at the king’s approach. “Your Majesty,” Harry says demurely. Liam, Niall, and Louis stand as well, quiet at Harry’s side.

“Lord Harry,” the king says. “How are you feeling?”

“I am well, Your Majesty,” Harry answers, keeping his eyes lowered. “I apologize for my behavior earlier this morning during the hunt. It was not my intention to –”

“No need to apologize,” the king abruptly cuts Harry off. Only then does Harry look up at the king, worry wrinkling Harry’s brow. The king does not look at Harry with anger, but instead, with compassion. “I hope my request did not upset you too greatly.”

“I am sorry that I was not able to do as Your Majesty asked,” Harry answers genuinely. Even if the king’s request was impossible for Harry to fulfill, Harry still is ashamed that he refused the king. Doing so was a terrible risk, but the king did not punish him for it. He is undeniably grateful for that. “It was not my intention to offend or defy Your Majesty.”

“I am sure of it, Lord Harry,” the king replies. “I hope you will continue to join us during the hunts. You will not be placed in such a position again.”

Gratitude washes over Harry and he bows deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It would be my honor.”

Harry looks up to see the king smile. “I am pleased to hear it, Lord Harry.”

Harry nods his head. “Your Majesty.”

With one last smile, the king returns to his chair to watch the resuming archery.

Harry sits down again, exhaling heavily. The king’s promise that Harry would not be asked to make the kill again brings him relief, but the king’s attention unsettles him as always.

“Did the king actually just apologize to you?” Liam asks with disbelief.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis replies, voice low to keep from being overheard but still fierce. Harry shuts his eyes briefly, desperately wishing Louis would let it go. However, Louis continues unforgivingly, “That wasn’t an apology. He never once told Harry he was sorry for putting him in such an awkward position.”

“Regardless,” Liam argues, “he made sure Harry was alright and promised that he would not ask that of him again. It was very kind of him to check on Harry.”

Harry feels grateful for Liam’s words. Liam always mediates in their group, and his words are ones of logic to counter Louis’ irrationality.

“I just wish he would leave you alone,” Louis says quietly and angrily to Harry. “Upsetting you like that and then not even apologizing for it.”

“It’s alright, Louis,” Harry says, placing a hand on Louis’ knee as a silent request for him to still his accusatory tongue. “He probably doesn’t see any reason to apologize. My reaction was not his doing.”

“You wouldn’t have had any reason to be upset if it wasn’t because of him,” Louis replies unforgivingly.

“Louis,” Harry shushes fearfully. “Please be careful of what you say.”

“Don’t defend him,” Louis snaps.

“I am not defending him,” Harry replies, shocked that Louis’ harsh and accusatory tone is now directed at him. “I just don’t want any trouble to befall you because you are too free with your words. Especially towards the king.”

Louis looks as if he wants to protest, but Niall cuts in quickly.

“You have every right to be upset, Louis, but you must remember who you are angry at. If the king knew of it, he could bring retribution like we cannot imagine. None of us want that to happen to you.”

Louis’ eyes never leave Harry’s, still simmering with anger. Harry holds his gaze, silently pleading with him to let it go.

Niall’s outside voice of reason seems to convince Louis. “Fine,” Louis replies. “I will not speak ill of the king, but that doesn’t mean I think the way he has treated Harry is in any way acceptable.”

“None of us do,” Niall hisses, reprimanding like a school matron. “But we also know to hold our tongues. If you want to keep you and Harry out of trouble, it is best you learn so as well.”

As if taking Niall’s advice to heart, Louis is silent for the rest of the archery. Louis’ lips are firmly shut, but Harry can still hear the words threatening to burst out.

The evening’s feast is magnificent.

Harry cannot bring himself to eat the meat from the hart, but he indulges in the other meats that adorn the table. The ale flows steadily, and the food is rich and delicious.

Louis’ tense mood from earlier lingers, but he relaxes more as the effects of the ale take hold. Harry stays close by his side all through the meal, also feeling himself relax as he fills yet another glass with ale.

When everyone is well fed and red-cheeked from the alcohol, the king calls for music. No minstrels had accompanied the hunting trip, so various lords and ladies with musical ability offer to perform. They sing upbeat drinking songs, everyone joining in to clap and sing along. Harry smiles as he sings, glad that Louis is singing along too.

When Liam stands up to sing, Harry, Louis, and Niall cheer him on. Of the boys, Liam is always the first one to start singing when he has been drinking, and his bravery does not waver having the king in his audience. Harry makes sure to sing along loudly and wave his cup in the air in support of his friend. He may be a bit biased, but Harry is sure that Liam has the most pleasurable voice of all the lords and ladies that have performed thus far.

Harry, Louis, and Niall are on their feet the moment Liam’s song finishes, cheering for him enthusiastically. Niall lets out an ear-piercing whistle, making other members of the court chuckle.

“Your Majesty,” a lord suddenly announces. “I just remembered that I saw a lute in the upstairs parlor, if Your Majesty would like me to fetch it. I unfortunately cannot play, but I am sure someone else would be able to.”

A murmur goes through the room of excitement, the addition of an instrument to the evening being most promising.

“Yes, Lord Jacob, that is a splendid idea,” the king says with a smile. “Please go fetch it at once.”

Lord Jacob beams, nodding to his servant to fulfill the king’s bidding.

The murmurs of excitement intensify as everyone waits for the servant to return with the lute. Harry sips his ale, patting Liam on the back as he returns to their table.

“Well done, Liam,” Harry congratulates. “Your performance was wonderful. Definitely the best so far.”

“Do you really think so?” Liam asks excitedly.

“Absolutely,” Louis joins in. “You have such a pleasing tone to your voice. I nearly had to cover my ears when Lord Charles sang.”

“He was rather dreadful, wasn’t he?” Liam says quietly but with a smile. Harry laughs at his devilish tone.

Their laughter is abruptly interrupted, however, by the king.

“Lord Harry.”

Harry looks up, his attention immediately diverted as the king speaks his name clearly and authoritatively. Louis, Liam, and Niall also stop their chatter to look towards the king. He sits at the front of the room, a glass in his hand.

“You play the lute, if I remember correctly?” the king asks.

“Um,” Harry clears his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty. I do.”

“Wonderful,” the king says breezily. “Would you delight us with a song then?”

Harry can’t help but smile at the king’s request, thinking how very different it was from the one this morning. Although the king has still placed Harry on the spot, this request is no trouble. Playing the lute is always an immense pleasure.

“It would be my honor, Your Majesty,” Harry answers. The other lords and ladies cheer, excited for the music.

The servant soon returns with the lute and Harry accepts it gratefully. His head feels a bit heavy from all the alcohol, and his fingers are only slightly clumsy over the strings as he checks to see if it is in tune. He walks over to the hearth, standing so that everyone can see him.

“Any requests, Your Majesty?” Harry asks.

The king smiles. “Play whatever you wish, Lord Harry.”

Harry nods, thinking only for a moment about which song he would like to play.

As Harry begins to play, the whole room falls silent. Harry’s eyes slip shut, forgetting about the people watching him, about the royal presence watching him, and just focusing on the way his fingers fall against the strings, the way his voice carries the gentle words. He almost feels as if he is playing in the gardens of Hampton Court or in the parlor at the Styles family estate in Cheshire. It feels as if he is alone, just him and his lute, performing for no one but himself.

As the song draws to a close, the lords and ladies burst into applause and cheers. Harry’s eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is Louis on his feet, applauding so quickly that his hands are a blur, his voice yelling praises louder than anyone else in the room. Harry smiles widely, biting his lower lip bashfully.

Then his eyes fall to the king who is also applauding, although he remains seated. A smile stretches across the king’s face, and he nods encouragingly at Harry as the court calls for another song.

Harry bows towards the king as he thinks about what to play next. The room soon falls silent as they wait for the next song.

Harry’s eyes slip shut again, his fingers drifting over the strings, and he sings.

Despite his improved mood the night before, Harry can’t help but feel apprehensive the following morning before the hunt.

His stomach is so tight with knots that he was unable to eat very much at breakfast. His head feels heavy as the effects of last night’s ale linger. Harry can feel Louis watching him closely as he gently refuses food, but he keeps his eyes down.

As the hunting party gathers outside, Louis lightly touches Harry’s arm. As Harry turns to him, Louis opens one of his saddlebags to show him a loaf of bread.

“In case you get hungry during the hunt,” Louis says. “Or if you decide you want to stop at any point, let me know straight away. Don’t push yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry insists, a tad harsher than he intends. Although he is grateful for Louis’ thoughtfulness, he is growing weary of being fussed over as if he is going to drop at any moment. As well, he didn’t sleep very well the night before, feeling too on edge. His exhaustion may be the cause for the way Harry snaps at Louis, or at least, that is what Harry tells himself.

Louis’ face falls at Harry’s harsh tone. He closes the saddlebag, turning away from Harry. Harry feels a pang of regret in his already turbulent stomach, but he ignores it. The king promised that Harry wouldn’t be put into the position that he was yesterday. Harry grits his teeth in determination as he mounts Chestnut. Today’s hunt will not be an embarrassment like yesterday’s.

The hunt soon begins, and Harry rides out with the rest of the hunting party. Instead of hanging towards the back like yesterday, he stays in the midst of the party, allowing himself to be lost in their numbers. The day is chillier than yesterday, and the cool wind whips his face with a stinging bite as if the tree limbs and twigs are snatching his cheeks as he rides through the woods.

The hunting party spreads out as they ride into an open field, the dogs leading them along a stream. Harry takes Chestnut to the periphery, allowing her to stretch her legs. The sky is grey and dull, the sun not strong enough to penetrate the thick layer of clouds covering the sky.

Harry’s nose is running and his cheeks are burning when the king rides up to his side.

“Enjoying the hunt, my lord?” the king asks, keeping a loose grip on his horse’s reigns.

“It’s a bit colder than I would expect in August, Your Majesty,” Harry answers, “but otherwise, yes.”

The king laughs. “I’m sure it will be warm by the afternoon. Then it would be too hot to go on a hunt. We would exhaust ourselves much more quickly than the hart would.”

Harry pulls his cloak more tightly around him, hoping the king is right. “Are you enjoying the hunt, Your Majesty?”

“Undeniably. This is exactly what I needed. Time away from Hampton Court, fresh air and sport, good company. I greatly enjoyed the feast last night. Your lute playing was magnificent!”

Harry feels his cheeks redden, but this time it isn’t from the wind. “You are too kind, Your Majesty. I was honored to play before you and the court.”

“Everyone enjoyed it greatly, myself included,” the king assures him. “You should be careful Lord Harry or you will become the official minstrel of the trip.”

Harry laughs, undoubtedly charmed to have his musical ability praised by such a great man. “I would do so if it please Your Majesty.”

“That’s settled, then,” the king jokes, and Harry smiles.

When Harry looks over at the king, he finds the king looking at him closely. “It is nice to see you smile again, Lord Harry. It should be a criminal offense for anyone to ever say or do anything that should make you unhappy.”

Harry glances away, gripping Chestnut’s reigns in his hands. “Everyone must be unhappy every once in a while, Your Majesty. It would not be human for it to be otherwise.”

“Regardless,” the king says, as if he is capable of defy human nature. Harry wonders if the king believes he has that power. “I wish that you were always happy, Lord Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond to this, so he just swallows roughly and keeps riding.

“I will not do as I did yesterday,” the king continues, “but I would like for you to stay close to me during the hunt today. To make sure you stay safe and happy.”

Despite the honor in the king’s invitation, Harry still feels reluctant. His unhappiness yesterday was a result of the king’s request. To stay close to the king’s side feels as if to risk being in that precarious situation again. Harry suddenly wishes he had stayed back by Louis’ side.

But Harry already refused the king the day before, and he is loath to do it again. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies dutifully, and brings his horse to the king’s side.

The king keeps his word and does not ask Harry to make the kill again. When they have chased down the hart, the king instead tells Harry to linger in the back of the hunting party. That is one royal request that Harry follows easily.

However, after the hunt in over, the king still keeps Harry at his side.

“A magnificent hunt,” the king proclaims, waving his cup filed with ale through the air. Harry sits at his side in the hunting lodge, resting comfortably after the hunt. They are surrounded by several other lords, but Louis, Niall, and Liam are nowhere to be found. Harry wonders what they are doing.

“Truly thrilling,” the king continues. There is a glow on his face, as if killing something has filled him with energy and life. “I think this must be the finest hunting party England has ever seen. Don't you agree, Lord Harry?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry answers automatically, even though is an inadequate authority on the matter. “It was a very exciting hunt.”

“Undoubtedly,” Lord William agrees, angling his body close towards the king. “Were you fearful when the hart lunged at you, Your Majesty?”

“Fear did not occur to me,” the king answers grandly to his audience's pleasure. “The only fear I saw was in the hart's eyes, knowing that it had been defeated.”

“Well done, Your Majesty,” Lord Arthur congratulates. “I never doubted for a moment that it would get the better of you.”

“Quite right,” the king agrees before turning to Harry. “And what did you think, Lord Harry? Were you afraid when the beast charged me?”

All eyes turn to Harry as they await his response. Harry had been at the back of the hunting party – as the king suggested – when they cornered the hart. The memories of the day before were too fresh in Harry's mind to watch the kill. He had kept his eyes down, watching Chestnut's ears twitch at the flies around it. 

He had not seen the hart try to defend itself, but he had heard the desperate sounds of a cornered, frightened animal and the triumphant release of an unforgiving and victorious crossbow. Harry had flinched at the sound as the lords and ladies cheered.

“I had every faith in Your Majesty,” Harry responds truthfully. Armed with advanced weaponry and a company of fifteen skilled hunters, the hart's fate had been sealed the moment the hunting party rode out that morning.

“Hear, hear!” cry the lords and ladies, thumping the table in good cheer with their palms and mugs of ale.

The king laughs in amusement. As the lords and ladies begin talking over one another, recounting their favorite moments of the day, the king leans close to Harry.

“You know, Lord Harry, I wouldn't have minded if you were a little afraid for me.” The king's breath is hot on Harry's ear. Harry's heart catches in his throat as he feels the king's hand rest atop of Harry's own. The king strokes the skin lightly, raising gooseflesh that makes Harry shudder. “Even if you had every faith in me, did you still feel a moment of fear? Where your heart stopped beating?”

Harry feels as if his heart has stopped beating now as the king whispers into his ear. His hand is heavy on Harry's own, trapping it beneath him like a fly caught in a glass.

Harry's throat feels desperately try, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows roughly. The king must take this as a sign of Harry's pleasure at his words, and Harry can feel him smile, their bodies much closer than could ever be deemed appropriate.

Harry is frozen. Perhaps if he doesn’t move a muscle, the king will forget he is there. That he will forget the question he asked that Harry has no answer to.

In contrast to his frozen body, Harry’s mind surges like a tempest shaking the powerless and unsteady trees. Harry searches frantically for an appropriate response – something that will satisfy the king without giving him what he so clearly desires.

“I –” Harry begins, not knowing what to say. He closes his eyes briefly, wishing to vanish. “I always am glad of Your Majesty’s health and wellbeing.”

It is not an ideal answer, but Harry hopes it will suffice.

The moment is suspended as Harry waits to see how the king will respond. To see if his answer will placate the king, or if it will spur him to keep pressing until Harry has no choice but to give him the answer he wants.

Mercifully, the king relents. He leans away from Harry, his heat disappearing and his hand lifting from Harry’s. Harry immediately clenches his hand into a fist, hastily withdrawing it from the table and placing it in his lap. He exhales shakily, but his shoulders are still drawn tight with tension.

Harry looks away from the king, but when he does, his gaze falls on someone on the opposite side of the room. Louis stares at Harry, his gaze cold and angry, making it clear that he had just seen the king so intimately in Harry’s space.

Unable to leave the king’s side without permission, Harry looks away from his betrothed.

The next time Harry looks to the back of the hall, Louis is gone.

When Harry finally leaves the king’s side an hour later, Louis is nowhere to be found. Harry checks the bedroom and the gardens with no luck, and even Niall and Liam haven’t seen him.

Harry sighs, knowing that Louis is likely angry about the intimate way the king had been whispering in his ear. Even though it had been uncomfortable for Harry, he knows Louis will be mad at him. Harry knows a fight is brewing, and he wants to avoid it for as long as he can. He’ll leave Louis alone and let him blow off some steam. Maybe whenever Harry sees him next, Louis will be past his anger and they can avoid a confrontation about the insignificant incident.

As Harry stands in the dining hall, a thought occurs. Ever since arriving at the hunting lodge, he hasn’t had a moment of solitude. Normally he would spend a free afternoon with Louis or Niall and Liam, but now, an afternoon by himself sounds perfect.

He knows exactly where he wants go. Alone, Harry makes his way out of the hunting lodge.

Harry walks through the gardens and into the woods, following along a path. Immediately, Harry can feel the relief of solitude wash over him. Away from the prying eyes of court and the king and Louis, Harry lets his shoulders sag, his face become neutral, and allows himself time to reflect on the strain of the week.

The king’s attention since the start of the hunt has been unrelenting, but Harry has also found himself floundering under Louis’ attention. That’s not something Harry ever expected to deal with. Ever since he first met Louis, Harry has craved his attention. He remembers when they were boys and Louis would visit his family’s estate, Harry would do anything to get Louis to notice him, whether that be stealing the maid’s bonnet as a joke or pulling funny faces at supper. The thrill Harry would experience when he would see bright, laughing blue eyes lock on his own was the most incredible feeling. He always felt a mixture of smugness at succeeding in his quest but also unadulterated joy at actually having Louis’ undivided attention.

Now, it feels different. When Louis looks at him, it’s not with bright eyes filled with love. It’s with caution. Wariness. He feels like Louis constantly watches him, but not because he’s too smitten to look away. Instead, it’s as if Louis is waiting for him to slip up. To give him any reason at all to believe his relationship with the king isn’t one sided. Between trying to keep the king at bay and Louis feeling loved and valued, Harry feels like he can’t do anything right.

Frankly, it’s exhausting.

He feels as if he and Louis are walking on cracking ice, and he’s not sure how to step back to solid ground. He loves Louis – he truly does – but being a constant fixture of the king’s flirtatious attention and Louis’ seemingly distrustful vigilance is taking a toll. Something needs to change.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief when he arrives at his destination.

The crystal blue pond sparkles in the sun, light dancing off the surface of the water. It’s runoff from the nearby River Thames, the small pond nestled in a pocket at the bottom of a hill where a stream trickles down into it. The area is heavily wooded, and Harry can’t help but feel miles away from the hunting lodge, even if he was only walking for ten minutes.

Shoulders sagging, Harry releases a long sigh of relief, tension draining from his body. An inexplicable feeling of freedom washes over him as he gazes at the still pool of water.

In a moment of youthful glee, Harry strips quickly out of his clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the bank. When he’s naked, he races to the edge of the water, not even bothering to test its temperature before flinging himself gracelessly into the pond.

Despite the warm summer temperatures, the water is cool from the shade of the forest. It feels nice against Harry’s warm skin, and he dips his head underneath, allowing himself to be fully submerged into the water. He nudges an eye open, and can see air bubbles escaping from his lips and rippling to the surface.

After he comes up for air, Harry swims lazy laps across the pond. Every now and then, sunlight will break through the trees, warming the pool ever so slightly. Eventually, he stops doing laps and just floats in the water, eyes closed against the summer sun, hair crowning around him, and fingertips skimming the surface of the water.

He doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps, the shuffle of the brush. He doesn’t hear the sound of the newcomer’s clothes hitting the ground with a quiet rustle.

It’s only when the surface of the water breaks, a quiet splash rippling through the water, that Harry is alerted to the other presence.

Harry’s eyes shoot open and he gasps, arms flailing as he loses his balance and is plunged under the surface of the water. For a brief moment, Harry considers staying underwater. He didn’t get a chance to see who the newcomer was, but he’s alone in the depths of the forest. He’s with the king’s court, and anyone could be privy to that knowledge. Wandering out alone wasn’t safe, it wasn’t practical, but Harry had done it anyways and now the fear racing through his heart makes him realize how reckless of a decision that was.

What if it’s the king? Harry nearly inhales a lungful of water at the thought. He doesn’t think the king saw him leave the lodge, but what if he did? What if he _followed_ Harry to the pond? Harry is naked and isolated and the king has been pursuing him. He doesn’t think the king would take no for an answer if he was found like this, and that thought alone has Harry’s stomach clenching in trepidation. 

Regardless, he can only stay underwater so long before his lungs begin burning for air, and he breaks the surface with a loud splutter and cough.

Rubbing his eyes, he doesn’t see a criminal coming to threaten him. And he doesn’t see the king coming to take advantage of his naked, vulnerable state.

No, instead he sees another type of danger.

“Hi,” Louis says, head bobbing in the water, bare shoulders slick with moisture.

Louis doesn’t look angry, which surprises Harry as much as the sight of him. Harry sees a tiredness in Louis’ eyes, but also a hint of the relief that Harry had also felt at being alone in the woods. Louis looks more like himself, more relaxed than Harry has seen him in months.

“Louis,” Harry says, unsure of what else to say. “How did you know I was here?”

“I was walking in the woods,” Louis replies simply. “I saw you coming down the path and decided to join you.”

Harry nods, still cautious. He fears an impending argument, even if Louis doesn’t look ready to fight.

Harry swallows as Louis begins to glide closer. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s never felt so resistant to a naked and willing Louis before. But as Louis comes closer, Harry feels his body tense up.

“Harry,” Louis breathes when he’s close enough to touch. He reaches out to place a hand on Harry’s cheek, fingers clammy from the cold water. “Things have been,” he sighs heavily, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. “Things have been stressful lately.” Louis doesn’t look away from where he’s stroking Harry’s cheekbone. “I’ve been so worried, and I’ve missed this. Just you and me.”

“Louis,” Harry begins, but he doesn’t know if it’s a protest or an encouragement.

“Haven’t touched you in days,” Louis continues, voice still quiet. His fingertips glide down from Harry’s cheek, ghosting over his lips and to his neck. “Every minute we’re together, I have to focus all my energy on not reaching out and touching you.” His smile is devilish. “But no one’s around to stop us now…”

As Louis leans forward, Harry finally remembers how to use his limbs. His body feels heavy as he pulls away from Louis, his hand slipping from Harry’s neck. Louis’ eyes flutter open when his lips meet air, confusion flashing across his face.

When his eyes settle on Harry’s hesitant expression, it turns from confusion to frustration.

“And now that we’re finally alone you won’t even touch me?” His voice is biting, but Harry can feel the hurt behind it.

“No, no,” Harry is quick to deny, reaching forward to grab Louis’ hand. Louis doesn’t snatch it away, which Harry thinks is a small victory. His head spins with how fast Louis switched from coy and playful to hurt and angry. “Of course I want you to touch me. But if you start, I’m not going to want you to stop. And we don’t know if we’re really alone.” His eyes flit worriedly to the surrounding trees, dark and easily concealable. “If you saw me in the woods, so could anyone else. We’re not that far from the lodge, and anyone could find us…”

“I don’t care about that,” Louis’ voice is almost a growl. “I don’t care if anyone finds us. I just want to touch you.”

“You’ll care if it’s the king that finds us!” Harry returns, tone turning frantic. “He could – he could _banish_ us, or send us to the Tower! He’s sent some of his most trusted advisors to the Tower for less!”

“What crime are we committing?” Louis snaps. “We’re two people who love each other. We should be able to act on it without fear of imprisonment.”

“That’s not what I mean, Louis –” Harry struggles to find the words to express what he _does_ mean.

“What is it then?” Louis demands. “Nothing we’re doing is a crime. I’m yours, and you are mine, and –”

When Louis halts midsentence, his face turns a ghostly shade of white. Then his expression changes, no longer one of frustration, but one of quiet fury.

“Louis?” Harry asks, squeezing his hand. At the pressure, Louis’ eyes shift up to meet Harry’s before abruptly pulling his hand away. The coldness in his eyes makes Harry shudder, the warmth of the sun a forgotten sensation.

When Louis speaks, his voice is quiet, controlled, but leaves no room to doubt his anger.

“Were you going to meet the king here?”

“What?” Harry gasps, baffled yet still hurt by the accusation.

“Were you?” Louis demands, voice rising. Harry is so appalled by the question that he doesn’t have time to answer before Louis continues. “That’s why you’re so afraid of being caught? Because you’re expecting someone else any minute?”

“How could you say that?” Harry returns, anger quickly overtaking the hurt.

“How could I say that?” Louis practically screeches. “I saw you at the king’s side! With him whispering in your ear like two lovers.”

“That’s not true,” Harry defends weakly. “You don’t believe that.”

“You’ve given me no reason as of late to believe otherwise! We used to be inseparable, but now you won’t even let me touch you. It’s not like we had complete privacy at the palace either. There was always a risk of someone stumbling across us, but that didn’t stop us from spending every night together.” Louis pauses, chest heaving. “And since we’ve been here, I’ve spent every night in a bed with you, but you won’t let me hold you. And it hurts me, Harry. It hurts me to be constantly rejected by the man I love who is supposed to love me back.”

“That’s not fair. I’m not rejecting you; I’m just being practical.”

“Practical because you don’t want the king to find out.”

“Would you stop that?” Harry bursts, no longer willing to listen to Louis’ nonsensical accusations. “This isn’t about the king. It’s about you and me. Not him – just us. And the problem is that you don’t trust me. I’ve done nothing to deserve your distrust. Nothing. You think the king is going to take advantage of me, and that I’m too naive to do anything other than go along with it. But that’s not true.”

“I –” Louis starts to protest, but Harry isn’t listening.

“How dare you accuse me of coming here to meet the king?” Harry wants the words to come out angry and unforgiving, but instead his voice breaks. The hurt is glaring, an open and horrible wound. “How dare you? When I have done nothing but love you and shown you faithfulness.”

Suddenly, Harry can’t stand the sight of his betrothed any longer. Tears prick at Harry’s eyes, blurring his vision.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice is softer but wary, and he slowly moves towards Harry.

“Don’t you come near me,” Harry snaps, turning his face so that Louis won’t see the tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t you come near me and act like you care when you accused me of betraying you.”

Normally, when Harry is upset, Louis is the first person he goes to. Now, Harry doesn’t want Louis near him. Not when he’s the one causing Harry the hurt in the first place. It’s a strange sensation that makes Harry feel lost and disoriented, like a ship stranded at sea with no light from the shore.

Harry just knows he doesn’t want to be here anymore. Not just at this pond, but at this hunting lodge. At Hampton Court. He doesn’t want to be anywhere where he is under the king’s gaze. Under Louis’ gaze. He wants to go home to Cheshire.

Covering his face with his hand, Harry retreats to the shore. He hopes Louis will stay behind, but he doesn’t.

“Harry,” Louis reaches for Harry’s arm, but Harry snatches it away.

They look ridiculous. Standing on the edge of the pond, both naked and dripping wet, arguing. If Harry didn’t feel like his heart was breaking in two, he would laugh at the ridiculousness. Instead, he can do nothing but fight down his sobs.

“Will you listen to me?” Louis asks, frustrated.

“No,” Harry says, pulling his clothes onto his wet skin with difficulty. “You’ve said what you really think of me, and I don’t want to hear anymore of it.”

“For God’s sake, Harry, that’s not what I meant –”

“Just leave me alone!” Harry cries, spinning around hastily to face Louis. Both of their chests are heaving, tears on their cheeks, jaws clenched with anger. Harry knows Louis is hurting too, but Harry isn’t the one who accused him of unfaithfulness. He doesn’t have to stay and listen anymore.

Without another word, Harry picks up his boots and cap, and he flees.


	4. Chapter Four

Harry’s head sways with each lurch of the carriage, pulling him from fitful sleep once again. It feels as if he has not been able to sleep for anything more than a handful of moments, the road too bumpy and his thoughts too heavy to allow for meaningful rest.

He had left the hunting lodge in a hurry, wanting to be gone before anyone could question him. Harry gave a half-formed excuse about needing to return to Hampton Court because of family business, but he could see the skeptical look in his steward’s eye at his explanation. He told his steward to explain his absence thus to anyone who questioned him, primarily the king. Harry did not seek permission from the king to leave, knowing that it would remove him from the king’s favor. Harry did not care.

A carriage had been called for, and Harry had retreated to Hampton Court within the hour. He had not said goodbye to Liam or Niall, and least of all Louis.

On the journey to Hampton Court, Harry questioned his decision a hundred times over. Perhaps he was too rash in leaving. Perhaps Louis’ accusations did not call for such an extreme reaction. On the other hand, the king’s pursuit and Louis’ jealousy has exhausted Harry to his core. To feel as if he is no longer the master of his own fate, but torn between these two men, has crippled him.

His decision to leave the hunting lodge was the right one, because it was Harry taking charge for himself.

However, Harry did not wish to stay at Hampton Court. He had no friends, no family there. His family was hundreds of miles away. Even Gemma, his nearest family member, was several days journey from him.

It did not take him long to decide where to go.

“My lord,” calls the driver, bringing Harry out of another attempt at sleep. “Hever Castle has just come into view.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies, his voice gruff from disuse. He clears his throat as he pulls back the curtain on the carriage window.

Hever Castle, the Boleyn family home, is a tall and imposing stone structure surrounded by a moat. Harry hopes the barrier of water will serve to keep his enemies – namely, his broken heart – at a distance.

Harry didn’t know where else to go. Lady Anne is the only friend he has in the world that was only a day’s journey away – albeit a lengthy one. Harry and his driver had set out before the sun had risen that day. Now, the sun creeps behind the turrets of Hever Castle, twilight falling over the grounds.

He had just enough time to send ahead a letter the previous day, explaining his abrupt and uninvited visit. He left out details of why he had to leave court, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. Besides, he would rather explain his situation in person. The letter didn’t offer much of an explanation, but Harry still hopes the letter has arrived before he has.

The carriage comes to a stop in front of the castle’s main entrance, and Harry feels his stomach knot with worry about how he may be received. He doesn’t even know if Lady Anne is at Hever. She left Hampton Court months ago – she may not be at her childhood home any longer.

All worries immediately leave him when he exits the carriage and finds Lady Anne already standing in front of the doors, nothing but kindness in her expression.

“Lord Harry,” Lady Anne says, stepping forward to embrace him familiarly regardless of the servants around them. Harry instantly crumples in her arms, unable to hide the tears that sting his eyes and the hiccupped sob that escapes his lips. Lady Anne holds him for longer than is appropriate, her hands comforting on his back.

“You are welcome here,” Lady Anne says quietly. “My home can be your respite from whatever troubles you.”

Harry does his best to straighten himself, to wipe his tears from his cheeks. He meets Lady Anne’s eyes, and he nods with gratitude. “Thank you, my lady. I am most grateful for your hospitality.”

Lady Anne smiles, and then holds out a hand, gesturing towards the castle. “Please come inside.”

Harry doesn’t say anything until after he’s eaten and been led to his room. Lady Anne stays by his side, informing him that most of her family is away at court so that they would not be disturbed. She keeps conversation light and cheerful as Harry eats. She speaks of how lovely the summer has been and how the roses have been blooming around the castle. Lady Anne tells him about Lady Mary’s baby, her five month old nephew, and how she has already formed a close bond with him.

Harry listens as Lady Anne speaks, and he finds himself relaxing in the company of a friend. Lady Anne’s joyful mood and humorous stories make him forget his trouble, even if only briefly. He had forgotten how much he missed her company.

Only after they retire to their private quarters does Lady Anne lead Harry to her sitting room for privacy.

“You don’t have to tell me what brought you here,” Lady Anne begins, her voice calming. She sits next to Harry on the sofa, their knees touching. “But you can if you wish. You will find no judgment here.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, nodding in gratitude. The day has been long, and Harry is weary from his journey, but he wants to speak. He doesn’t want to go to bed for yet another night with such a heavy burden. “I know that, otherwise I wouldn’t have sought your friendship in such a moment as this.”

Harry’s voice catches, and his heart climbs to his throat, blocking any further words from escaping.

Gently, Lady Anne places a hand on Harry’s knee. The simple gesture of kindness is all Harry needs to open up and tell Lady Anne everything that has happened since she left.

Harry tells her of the king’s pursuit and his unawareness of what was going on. He speaks of Louis’ initial excitement at the king’s attentions and then his eventual jealousy and anger that Harry began to feel like followed his every step. Harry tells Lady Anne about the hunt and how the king deferred to him for the fatal shot. Lastly, he tells Lady Anne of his fight with Louis at the pond. He tells her how Louis’ mistrust has manifested into accusations of unfaithfulness. Accusations that shake the very foundation of their relationship, and, Harry fears, will bring its downfall.

Lady Anne remains silent as Harry speaks, but nods every now and then to show that she is listening. Harry mostly averts his eyes to the floor as he tells his story, but every time he looks at his friend, he sees his own pain reflected in her expression.

When Harry finishes his story, he feels infinitely lighter. He has not been able to speak freely about what has been on his mind to anyone. To speak to a friend is an unparalleled comfort.

“Oh, Harry,” Lady Anne sighs mournfully, shaking her head. “This truly is a muddle. A disaster. I am so sorry.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

“No – you don’t understand.” Lady Anne meets his gaze, pain in her expression. “This is all my fault.”

“What?” Harry asks, his brow wrinkling. “What on earth could you mean?”

Lady Anne sighs. Abruptly, she stands and walks over to the desk. Harry watches curiously as she opens the top drawer and pulls out a bundle of papers. She walks back over to the sofa and sits down, handing them to Harry.

His eyes skim over the first page, and then his eyes seem to pop out of his head.

“What?” he gasps in confusion, looking at Lady Anne. He flips through them, reading page after page of romantic musings, tender endearments, and confessions of love. Every one of them is signed “Henry.”

“He has been writing to me,” Lady Anne explains, her voice full of regret. “I’ve received these letters ever since I left court.”

“He says he loves you.” Harry can hardly believe the words in front of him.

“He does,” Lady Anne nods, and then she reaches for Harry’s hands. “Harry, my dear friend, can you ever accept my apology? I did not know when I left court that he would turn his attentions to you. I did not mean to create such a difficult position for you and Louis. I never dreamed it would be like this.”

Harry exhales, meeting Anne’s eyes. “He has been flirting with me while writing you these letters?”

Anne nods. “I am so sorry. I thought he may take a lover, but I did not know it would be you he would pursue. My selfishness in leaving caused this. Can you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Harry replies easily, despite the shock coursing through him. “You did not know.”

Lady Anne sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“Why did you leave court?” Harry asks. “You never actually told us why, and I have begun to believe it wasn’t for your sister.”

Lady Anne offers a sheepish smile. “You are correct, and I apologize for misleading you. I just needed to get away from court.”

“But why?”

“The king’s attentions were becoming too much,” she admits simply but with resignation. “As I am sure you are aware, it feels like an impossible situation. My family was pressuring me to accept him and they were furious at me for not becoming his mistress. Sometimes I thought that maybe I could love him as well, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if it was because of my family or if it was because he’s the king. I just needed to be away from it all and decide for myself.”

Harry nods in understanding. “You are right. It truly does feel like an impossible situation.”

Lady Anne meets his gaze, and understanding passes through them. A man and a woman, both caught in the insurmountable trap of the king. Both trying in their own ways to escape.

“Exactly. It became so much that I just didn’t feel like I could remain at court. The night I left – that was the first time he told me he loved me.”

Harry nods in understanding. “That is what made you leave?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t respond – I didn’t know how to. I thought maybe he would forget me if I left, but his letters prove that he hasn’t.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asks quietly.

“He says he loves me,” Lady Anne says, a mixture of disbelief and awe in her voice. “I think I could love him, too.”

Harry stares at his friend in shock. “What about Henry Percy?”

“I will always love him, but marrying him will never be an option. Marrying the king – it may be possible.”

“But the king is married. Wouldn’t he just want you to become his mistress?”

“You have heard the rumors, I am sure. If I have heard them here at Hever, then surely you heard them living in the same palace at the king. He believes his marriage to be invalid and wants to have it annulled. I could marry him then.”

The rumors that Harry had believed to be malicious gossip, Anne speaks of them as if they are certain. He does not know what to think.

“But he turned to me the moment you left,” Harry protests. “He claims he loves you, but he would pursue another?”

“He is a king,” Lady Anne answers simply.

It should not be enough of an answer, but it is.

Suddenly, Harry understands. “I was just a distraction for the king. He has loved you this whole time, but wanted someone to hold his interest while you were gone. That is why he has pursued me. For his own amusement.”

Lady Anne looks at him with great sorrow and apology in her expression, and that alone tells Harry that what he says is true.

“Harry, I’m so sorry. I had no way of knowing he would pursue you. I thought he would keep to his other lovers. I did not know he would turn his gaze on you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Harry feels wooden. “It is not you I blame. The king has nearly destroyed my relationship with Louis, and it is all sport to him.”

All his strife over the past several months has been nothing but a game for the king. He would chase Harry around while he waited for Lady Anne to decide whether or not she loved the king back. It never meant anything to the king, while it has uprooted Harry’s entire life.

“You would marry such a man?” Harry asks. He does not wish to sound accusatory, but his tone cannot help but hold a hard edge.

Lady Anne looks at him imploringly, taking his hand in hers. “It is not my will. I believe this is what God has chosen for me.”

“Why would God sentence you to such a fate?”

“It is not up to me to question God’s will, only to follow it.”

Harry sighs. “It is a dangerous road you are called to.”

Anne meets his gaze, her chin held high and resolute. “It is my duty to follow it.”

Harry squeezes his friend’s hand. “We will protect one another, as you have said before. I will be a loyal and faithful friend to you.”

Lady Anne smiles with relief and gratitude. “And I will be the same to you.”

Harry smiles back, mutual understanding passing between them.

“You must promise me something,” Lady Anne says quietly but firmly.

“What?”

“You must not give up on Lord Louis. If you love him, you must fight for him.” Lady Anne sighs, her hand still holding Harry’s. “Maybe it is not my place to say, but you are my friend. Don’t let this disagreement stand in the way of your happiness.”

“I think it’s more than a disagreement.”

“That may be so,” Lady Anne concedes, “but don’t let the king divide you and Lord Louis like Henry Percy and I were divided. I may grow to love the king, yes, but I will never love him like I did Henry. Fight to be with the man you love.”

Harry nods. “I want to still be with him, but I cannot be if he doesn’t trust me.”

“I understand that, but promise me that you will still try.”

Harry doesn’t wish to give up on Louis. He never thought anything would break apart their relationship. The idea was always unimaginable; even now, with the reality before him, it still seems impossible. He doesn’t plan on letting Louis go without a fight.

“I promise,” Harry swears. Lady Anne smiles at him in relief and squeezes his hand.

With their hands clasped together, Harry and Lady Anne sit in silence, contemplating the extraordinary road that lies ahead of them.

Harry remains at Hever Castle for a week.

He spends his days in the company of Lady Anne, and Harry is relieved to find that they fall right back into the old pattern of their friendship despite their months of separation. She takes him on tours of the house and the gardens and gives him full access to the castle’s library. Lady Mary is also at Hever with her five month old son. Her husband is away at court, but frequently visits his wife and child.

Harry enjoys spending time with the baby. Henry’s innocence and sweetness contrasts so strongly with the cruelty and manipulation Harry experienced at court, and it is a welcome change.

However, Harry also seeks out solitude frequently while he is at Hever Castle. Lady Anne obliges unquestioningly, and Harry will find a place in the castle or on the grounds where he can be alone with his thoughts. Where he can try to figure out what the next step for him is. Although he may have fled court, the problems he faced steadfastly refuse to abandon him.

The day after his arrival, Lady Anne writes a letter to the king explaining Harry’s hasty absence. She claims that she had written him a letter that had called him to her side without delay, and since Harry has been such a faithful friend to her, he forgot to request the king’s permission to leave in his haste. Lady Anne assures him the excuse will be satisfactory.

Harry also writes a letter to Louis, but it is brief and does not mention their fight. He needs to wait until they are together again before trying to mend their relationship. Even though he knows leaving the hunting lodge was the right decision, he can’t help but feel guilt at not telling Louis. He knows Louis must have been worried about him and also angry at his swift and unaccounted departure.

His letter is brief:

_Louis,_

_I write to you from Hever Castle, where I am a guest under our dear friend Lady Anne’s gracious hospitality. She sends her regards. I am well, and I will return to Hampton Court shortly._

_Harry_

Harry himself cringes at the removed tone of the letter, but the pain from Louis’ accusations is still acute. He does not wish to extend the olive branch yet, although this letter functions as one of sorts. Letting Louis know where he is and that he is safe. It is more than Harry feels like he deserves to know at the moment.

The part of the letter about returning to Hampton Court is also true. Although Harry wishes to hide out at Hever Castle forever, he knows he must return soon.

When Harry returns to Hampton Court, he will not be alone. Lady Anne will be at his side.

Lady Anne has decided that it is also time for her to return to court. Hiding from the king at her family home did not prove to remove her from his affections like she expected, and Lady Anne knows it is not a permanent solution. It is time for her to go back to Hampton Court and embrace whatever destiny the king decides for her.

Inspired by his friend’s courage, Harry knows he must also face his fate. Whether that is mending things with Louis or breaking off their betrothal, Harry knows he cannot hide out forever. God, he doesn’t want to break off their betrothal. He hopes fervently that Louis will be willing to discuss their problems, to work through the painful accusations and mistrust that has come to pollute their relationship. Harry doesn’t want to lose the man he loves because of a man that never intended to love Harry at all.

As soon as he arrives at Hampton Court, Harry plans to explain this all to Louis. To tell him everything Lady Anne told Harry about the king’s love for her. How Harry has never been anything more than sport to him, and that his and Harry’s anger should not be towards one another.

Harry also plans to apologize. To apologize for his naiveté and unawareness. For his lack of sensitivity towards Louis’ feelings while the king carelessly played with their relationship.

If Louis is willing to apologize to Harry and to accept his apology, then Harry’s immediate proposal will be to remove themselves from court and return home to the north. Maybe they shouldn’t marry as straightaway as they originally planned, as they will need time for their wounds to heal before they begin their lives together as husbands.

All of this is only – only – if Louis still cares for him and wants to mend the broken parts of their relationship. Harry prays that Louis hasn’t given up hope yet.

Otherwise, Harry doesn’t know what he will do.

Harry and Lady Anne don’t send word ahead that they are returning to Hampton Court. They both decide not to draw any unnecessary attention to their return, even though Harry knows rumor and gossip will already be circulating through court as relentlessly as the plague.

Upon arrival, Lady Anne plans to find the king and pledge herself to him; Harry plans to find Louis and restore their relationship.

They break up the journey into two days, stopping at an inn in the town of Reigate for the night. Harry is thankful for a night’s rest before he has to face Louis the following day. Unfortunately, he sleeps sporadically, his mind too plagued with worry to find peaceful rest.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Anne asks the following morning as they set off for the remainder of their journey.

“I’m just ready for this to be over with,” Harry admits. Even if it makes him a coward, he just wishes the conflict was behind him. He is frightened of how Louis will react at his return, and he thinks coping with rejection and a broken heart would be preferable to the suspense of the unknown.

The journey to Hampton Court seems much quicker than his initial retreat. Even though they had broken the trip into two days, Harry feels as if the horses have fire under their hooves and that the palace is approaching much faster than he is ready for.

The sun is high in the sky when their carriage arrives at the outskirts of the town of Hampton. Their driver slows the carriage considerably, and Harry looks out the window to see a long line of other carriages making their way into town.

“What is this?” Harry wonders aloud, gesturing for Lady Anne to take a look.

Lady Anne pulls back the curtain on the window curiously. Their carriage is stopped in the road, hardly moving.

“I don’t know,” Lady Anne replies. She calls out the window to the driver, “Where are all these carriages going?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” the driver replies. “I’ll find out.”

Harry can hear their driver speaking to another driver, inquiring about the traffic.

“My lady,” the driver calls, “there is a joust today at the palace.”

“A joust?” Lady Anne replies with surprise. “It must be the festival for the end of summer. I had completely forgotten about it. I had no idea it was today!”

“Oh,” Harry nods, remembering. He had heard discussion about the jousting tournament that would be happening at the festival. He had initially been excited and looking forward to the event, but with the hunting trip and his flight to Hever Castle, Harry had completely forgotten about it as well.

“At least everyone will be occupied,” Lady Anne points out. “It will make our arrival much less conspicuous, since lords and ladies are coming from all over to see the tournament.” Lady Anne gestures out the window to prove her point.

The carriage rolls forward slowly, everyone else trying to arrive at the castle before the afternoon tournament begins.

Harry imagines that Louis will also be at the tournament. Everyone in court would be. Seeing the countless carriages before them and knowing that hundreds of people live in the palace, Harry wonders how he will ever find his betrothed.

Lady Anne reaches for his hand across the carriage. Harry grips her hand back in reassurance.

“The king will be very busy too,” Harry reminds her. “That should give you some time to get settled before you have to talk to him.”

Lady Anne nods, but Harry can see trepidation in her expression. “I know he loves me,” she says quietly, “but I am still afraid of what could happen. Is that childish?”

Harry grips her hand firmer. In the past week, Lady Anne has been such a faithful friend to him through his doubts and anxiety. At times, Harry has forgotten that she faces an even greater obstacle ahead of her – the king’s marriage. Lady Anne’s poise and confidence often fools him, and he forgets that despite her bravery and her family name, she is just a woman as uncertain of her future as anyone.

“It is not childish at all,” Harry reassures her fervently. “It is natural. The circumstances surrounding your relationship may be complicated –” Lady Anne laughs dryly “– but you believe this is what God wants you to do, right?”

Lady Anne holds his gaze for a moment before nodding resolutely.

“Then this is what you must do. Everything else will fall into place.”

“I don’t want to be his mistress,” Lady Anne says. “I know he has treated my sister kindly, but that is not what I want. I don’t have to be queen, but I don’t know what he wants –”

“You will work that out together,” Harry reassures her. “That’s what people who love each other do. Isn’t that what you have been telling me? You don’t give up, but figure out a solution.”

Lady Anne nods, squeezing Harry’s hand. “That is what we will both do.”

The carriage eventually arrives at the front of the palace, and their servants quickly begin to unload the carriage.

Harry steps out of the carriage first and offers a hand to Lady Anne. He gazes up at the imposing front gates of Hampton Court. The palace and its extravagance has always made him feel small, but as Harry looks at the stone dragons guarding the entrance to the gates, he only sees it for the artifice that it is. Each lavish indulgence is to compensate for the fragile ego of a fickle king. What Harry has – his love for Louis – is much more real, much more sacred than anything at Hampton Court Palace.

With Lady Anne at his side, Harry walks through the gates with his gaze fixed straight ahead.

The palace is eerily quiet.

Harry walks through the hallways, which are normally crowded with courtiers, and finds himself alone. He can hear the buzz of voices as people make their way towards the tiltyard, milling around in the gardens as they wait for the tournament to begin. Harry keeps his face down when he passes a couple of people, but they hardly look at him, too much in a rush to pay him any mind.

The deeper into the palace goes, the fewer people he sees.

Harry knows that Louis is probably one of the many people at the tiltyard right now. He is probably with Liam and Niall, already sitting in the viewing gallery at the tiltyard waiting for the joust to begin. Louis always loves the joust, so he’s probably so excited that he’s not even thinking about Harry. Harry wonders if Louis has thought of him at all in the past week. He hopes that when Louis did, not all his thoughts were angry ones.

Regardless, Harry hopes that Louis isn’t at the joust. It would be so much easier if Louis was in his chambers by himself. Then the two of them would be able to talk without distraction. Everyone would be at the festival – no one would come looking for them. They could yell and cry and fight if they need to, and no one would hear them.

Anticipation and nerves churn wildly in Harry’s stomach as he approaches the door to Louis’ chambers. His hands tremble and his heart pounds erratically in his chest. It is as if everything inside of him is being stirred inside of one of the kitchen’s giant black pots. Being turned over and over again until everything is blended messily together.

As Harry stops in front of Louis’ door, he feels as if he is going to be sick.

Harry drags in a ragged breath, before lifting a shaking hand to Louis’ door. He knocks twice.

No sound comes from the other side of the door, and Harry resists the urge to shrink into the shadows. He feels like a startled animal, ready to leap into the forest and hide amongst the brush. Instead, he holds his ground, his shoulders squared, even as his hands twist together nervously.

Suddenly, Harry hears the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Harry barely has time to react before the door opens.

Before him stands Louis’ footman.

“Lord Styles,” the footman gasps, surprised. He bows hastily.

“Hello, Davis,” Harry greets, but his voice comes out tight and strained. “Is Lord Louis in?”

“No, my lord,” Davis shakes his head. “He’s at the joust. I was just finishing up changing the bedsheets, and then Lord Tomlinson gave me permission to attend the joust. Unless,” Davis looks at Harry uncertainly, “unless you need something from me, my lord?”

Davis’ question makes Harry hyper aware of his current situation. During his time at Hampton Court, he and Louis have been so inseparable that Louis’ own footman also sees Harry as his lord.

“No, no,” Harry waves his hand. “Enjoy the joust, Davis.”

“Yes, my lord,” Davis bows.

With a nod, Harry turns away. He hears Davis shut the door as Harry turns into the next corridor. Alone, Harry drags a hand through his hair. He expected Louis to be at the joust, but he had hoped that he would be in his chambers. He did not want to publicly reunite with Louis.

Maybe it would be best to wait for Louis in the palace. To approach him afterwards when he is alone.

Harry immediately shakes that idea from his head. He does not want to wait until the joust is over to reunite with Louis. Besides, when the joust finishes, there will be a grand feast with plenty of ale that will last into the night. He certainly doesn’t want to try to reunite with Louis when he has been drinking.

Maybe if Harry finds him at the joust, it will temper Louis’ reaction. He wouldn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the crowd, in front of all the nobles of the country, and in front of the king. And if Niall and Liam are with him, maybe they would help as well. Harry is sure they aren’t thrilled with him either, but maybe they would at least provide a bit of balance.

His heart thudding in his chest, Harry makes his way hastily towards the tiltyard. Instead of hiding his face, he peers all around him as he steps out into the gardens. The gardens are filled with people, crushed together as they walk towards the tiltyard. Any one of them could be Louis, so Harry makes sure to look at everyone around him.

The tiltyard is to the north of the palace, and Harry can see in the distance the five tall viewing gallery towers that surround it. The people around him move slowly, leisurely, unaware and uncaring of Harry’s haste. Harry dodges around groups of people, mumbling “excuse me” as he moves ahead.

Harry looks around him as he walks, looking for any familiar face that may be able to help him. He sees no one, not even other courtiers that he met during the past few months. Everyone appears to be lower class, in dull fabrics and outdated styles. Harry wonders if the courtiers are already seated at the tiltyard, or if they will arrive later after the commoners have been seated.

Eventually, Harry arrives just outside the tiltyard. It is a grand and magnificent structure, but Harry does not stop to marvel at it. Instead, he moves to the edge of the crowd, standing on his tiptoes to look for Louis amongst the throngs of people.

Suddenly, a flourish of trumpets split the sky, signifying that the joust will be starting soon. Harry turns his attention to the tiltyard, a wave of panic washing over him. He won’t be able to subtly find Louis after the joust begins and slip away with him. Harry is sure he would be able to find him much easier once the joust begins and everyone is seated and not moving around, but there would be no way to attract Louis’ attention without also attracting everyone else’s. He would have to wait until the joust was over, and Harry does not want to do that.

Harry turns his attention back to the crowds, his eyes frantic as they search.

His eyes move from face to face, and then suddenly, Harry sees him. One moment, he is looking at a stranger’s face, and then next moment, he is looking at Louis.

And Louis looks right back at him.

Harry freezes. Part of him wants to run to Louis, but he doesn’t remember how to move his legs. He doesn’t think he’d be able to move them even if he remembered how. They suddenly feel so heavy and cumbersome, as if they aren’t even attached to his body.

Yet somehow, Harry moves forward. Louis is too far away to read his expression, but Harry can see that his eyes never stray from Harry.

Harry’s eyes don’t leave Louis’ either, and Harry bumps into a few people as he makes his way to the other side of the crowd.

Even though Louis has hurt Harry, Harry can’t help but feel relief at seeing his betrothed again. In the past week, it has almost felt like Louis was unreal. As if Harry could convince himself it was all a dream, and Louis wasn’t ever a real person that he had once touched and loved. But now as Harry approaches Louis, he is overwhelmed with love and trepidation. He loves Louis, Harry has never doubted that for a moment. He wants to make this work. He is going to do everything in his power to fix their relationship. But Louis has to want that too.

Harry’s hands tremble as he stands in front of Louis.

“Louis –” Harry’s voice feels detached.

“What are you doing here?” Louis says. His voice is quiet and fierce with a hard edge. Louis has never spoken to Harry like that before, save during their fight, and it makes Harry aware of the wall between them.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Harry pleads. “I need to talk to you.” Harry lowers his voice, his gaze fixed firmly on Louis’. “I need to apologize.”

Louis doesn’t respond for a moment, but then he shakes his head. “No, I want to stay here. You can say what you want to say, but I don’t want to be alone with you right now.”

Harry’s heart sinks, but he also knows that isn’t a complete rejection. “Louis,” he hastily begins, in case Louis changes his mind, “I am so sorry that I left without a word. I was hurt, but that was unfair to you to leave like that.”

“Do you have any idea,” Louis’ voice is barely a hiss, “how terrifying it was to not know where you had gone? To only know that you had left but not to know where? And then only to hear _days_ later? After I had spent nights losing sleep and not being able to eat. Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

“I am sorry,” Harry repeats. “I just needed to get away from everything, and I know that isn’t an excuse, but that’s why I did it.”

“We’re supposed to be in this together, Harry. You can’t just run away from me. You should have talked to me.”

Despite himself, anger flares up at the accusation. Harry struggles to fight it down. “I couldn’t. Not after our fight. Not after you accused me of unfaithfulness. Can you blame me, Louis?” Harry hisses. “Can you blame me for leaving after our fight? I should have told you, I acknowledge that, but how could you expect me to stay after I realized what you thought of me?”

“I didn’t actually think you were unfaithful. I was just hurt and upset and said things I shouldn’t have –”

“I think I am owed an apology, too,” Harry replies. Louis meets his gaze, and Harry can see that his defenses are still up. Immediately, Harry’s anger is washed away and replaced with a desperation for Louis to understand. “I want us to be alright,” Harry says fiercely. “I still love you, that has never stopped for a moment. But I need an apology. I need to know you are sorry, too.”

Louis looks at Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry searches Louis’ eyes pleadingly. A resolution seems to cross Louis’ expression, just as a voice cuts in.

“Lord Harry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Harry’s body tenses up like a string tightened on the bow of a lyre. Louis also freezes, and Harry watches as the resolution on Louis’ face morphs back into an expression of unreadable coldness.

Harry doesn’t wish to look away, doesn’t wish to believe that this conversation could be over, but he can’t ignore his king.

Slowly, Harry turns around. The king, along with several other courtiers, stands before him, clearly on their way to the joust. Several guards stand around the procession, guiding them through the now-dwindling crowds. Harry doesn’t see Lady Anne with them, so he expects she hasn’t had as much luck in finding her intended as he did.

“Your Majesty,” Harry replies, bowing. He hears Louis echo the same greeting.

“Your departure from the hunting lodge gave us all a scare, Lord Harry,” the king says. Harry can hear an edge to his tone, and Harry feels a jolt of fear that Lady Anne’s letter had not been enough to placate the king.

“I apologize, Your Majesty. I had no such intention.”

The king nods. “I trust you had a pleasant visit with Lady Anne?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“The hunting lodge was certainly not as pleasant without you. I found myself with a shortage of beautiful men.”

Harry’s stomach drops.

“You may makes amends now,” the king gestures towards him. “Come, and be my guest in the royal box. You may sit with me and watch the joust.”

The king’s hand is still outstretched, but Harry glances behind him at Louis. For the first time since Harry saw him that day, he can read Louis’ expression perfectly. Louis’ mask has fallen, and now Harry can see exactly what Louis wants. There is no anger, no accusation. Instead, Harry sees resignation, but not defeat. Harry sees understanding.

Before, when the king requested Harry’s company, Louis’ reaction was either happiness or wariness. Now, Louis’ reaction is simply one of understanding, and Harry knows what that means. Louis is not urging Harry to resist the king, because Louis knows he cannot. He has finally accepted that Harry cannot. Louis knows the impossibility of Harry’s situation, and he finally understands that it is not a reflection of Harry’s love for him.

Harry knows exactly what he must do.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Harry replies clearly and confidently, “but I cannot.”

The king stops, as if Harry has suddenly begun speaking another language. As if the words Harry is saying hold no meaning. All the courtiers around the king seem to suck in a breath simultaneously, their eyes widening with disbelief.

When Harry had refused to make the kill during the hunt, the king had taken Harry’s refusal with grace. Possibly because he had seen how much the request had distressed Harry, the king had not punished him for his refusal. At the time, Harry had thought that maybe that meant it was possible to say no to the king and not lose his head in the process. Any hope Harry has of the king extending the same grace without a clear reason to do so is dashed at the way the king freezes, his body tense.

“Pardon me?” the king asks slowly, turning back towards Harry. He is giving Harry a second chance. A chance to take back his refusal and accept the king’s offer complacently.

Harry doesn’t back down.

“My king, I cannot.” Harry steps back so that he is by Louis’ side, and he threads his fingers through Louis’. “I am betrothed to this man, and I love him with all my heart. I cannot do as Your Majesty asks of me, because it is a betrayal of him.”

“Harry…” Louis’ voice is a low warning, and Harry can hear the panic behind it. But Harry has made his choice, and he will stand by it. He will stand by the man he loves.

“And what of your king?” the king demands, his jovial mood gone. Harry can see his face flushed red, and he realizes the king must be embarrassed. Not only has Harry refused him, but to do so in front of many other courtiers is surely a blow – albeit a minor one – to the king’s authority. Harry watches as the lords and ladies slowly back away from the king, as if he may explode and they don’t want to be caught in the flames. “Do you have no care that your actions betray your king?”

“I am a faithful servant to Your Majesty,” Harry replies firmly, “and I would never wish to betray him.”

“Yet you speak a betrayal.”

“It is not my desire to do so, but I must do what I believe to be right.”

“Your Majesty,” Louis cuts in desperately, “please do not listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying –”

“Silence,” the king snaps, and Louis’ mouth clicks shut. “I do not wish to hear it.”

It’s as if all the air has left the grounds of the palace. Harry can’t even hear the chatter of the crowds on the other side of the tiltyard walls anymore.

But suddenly, Harry feels Louis’ grip tighten on his hand. A firm and comforting pressure that assures Harry that he is not alone. Louis is at his side. Harry stands straighter.

“This is your choice?” the king asks.

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand, and Louis squeezes back.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry replies confidently.

A beat passes. “Then you disobey your king. Treason.” The king nods his head towards the guards on either side. “Seize him.”

“What?” Louis exclaims, grabbing Harry’s arm. Harry’s eyes widen in horror as the two of the guards walk towards him purposefully, their armor glinting in the light. Harry turns towards Louis, and he sees tears in Louis’ eyes. Harry reaches out to touch his face.

“Harry, I’m sorry –” Louis gasps.

Harry shakes his head. “I choose you,” he says quietly.

Louis grabs his face and mashes their mouths together in a wet and hurried kiss.

Harry feels the guards grab his arms and begin to pull him away. It feels as if they are too magnets separating, and Harry holds on as long as possible. But when the guards pull him away, Harry does not resist.

“Harry!” Louis cries, as a guard grabs him to hold him back. Louis kicks and fights, trying to break the guard’s grip. “Harry!”

Harry stumbles over his own feet as the guards drag him away, refusing to look away from Louis for as long as possible. His cheeks feel damp, and he suddenly realizes that he is also crying. Crying because he may never see Louis again. Crying because he may have kissed Louis for the last time.

Before they are out of sight, Harry’s eyes fall on the king. The king stands there, watching. He looks small and insignificant. Initially charmed by the extravagance of court, Harry now sees what the king is. An unhappy, unsatisfied man.

Even if Harry must die for his choice, he knows he made the right one.

Henry VIII of England has nothing on Lord Louis Tomlinson of Doncaster.


	5. Chapter Five

Harry can see London from his window. Church steeples rise up and pierce the sky like thorns on a rosebush. The spire of St. Paul’s Cathedral rises prominently above all others, and Harry imagines that the top of it touches heaven itself. Wooden houses with thatched roofs line the city streets in a crowded chaos. The river – the same small river that flows past Hampton Court – is wide and relentless and grey. Boats from all over the world sail past Harry’s window and down to the docks. He watches people come and go, and cannot fathom how so many people live in one city. In some ways, he had imagined it like his family home or Hampton Court – large and sprawling, but spacious so that one could easily find solitary retreat. Harry wonders if the people of this city feel as trapped as he does.

Such is Harry’s view from the Tower of London.

When Harry had been arrested at the joust, he had been taken to a holding cell at the palace. Harry hadn’t even known that cells like that existed at Hampton Court. No one else was there, probably because no one else was so foolish to displease the king. But despite the isolation of the cell, Harry did not regret his decision.

The next morning when the guards arrived, Harry expected them to release him. The king had declared treason, but surely the king didn’t actually think Harry had committed such a heinous crime? He hadn’t tried to murder the king or revolt against him. All he had done was decline his invitation to attend the joust. Surely that was not treason according to law.

The guards did not free Harry, despite his optimism. As they led Harry towards the river and he saw a boat waiting for him, only then did fear and panic overtake him. The boat could only take Harry to one place – the Tower of London.

The king was not going to forgive Harry’s offense so easily.

Harry has been at the Tower for a week now. His cell is small with only a cot and a wooden commode. Cold stone covers the walls and floor, hard and unforgiving. The window from which Harry can see the city and the river is high above him so that he must stand on his cot to see out.

He has seen no one but the guards and his footman, John. Mercifully, the crown does not deny nobles accused of treason the right to be attended by a personal servant. Harry may have offended the king, but he is still of noble blood. He has lost many things, but he hasn’t lost his dignity yet. John helps Harry dress, takes care of Harry’s chamber pot, and brings him his meals, but Harry sees the sadness in John’s eyes that he doesn’t attempt to conceal. Neither of them mentions that Harry is now a prisoner of the king.

Every time Harry sees John, he asks for news. News of Louis, of his family, of the king’s decision.

The previous day, when John visited, he finally had news to share. “Lord Louis has fled,” John told him, “but no one knows to where. The king does not care where he has gone as long as he does not come here. Your family has heard, as well, and word is that your father is traveling down to London to plead to the king on your behalf. I do not know what His Majesty is thinking. I am sorry, my lord.”

Harry had sobbed, heartbroken that his decision has caused such tumult for his family and betrothed.

He has had nothing but time to think, to drown in regret. Not regret for standing by Louis’ side at the joust, but regret for not doing it earlier. For ever believing the king was interested in him only in terms of friendship. For leaving his home in the North and coming to London to begin with. He may be a noble, but Harry was not made for palaces and royalty and politics.

He longs for home. He thinks of his family and how they must be hurting. How confused and upset they must be. Harry thinks of his mother, and he feels like a child again. He wishes he could go to her side and she would take him in her arms and let him cry. She would always assure him everything would be alright. Harry feels that surely if he was just allowed to see his mother, then everything would right itself. That this imprisonment would turn out to be a cruel nightmare if only his mother was able to come to his side.

He asks John to bring him paper and ink so that he may write his family a letter, but John says he is only permitted to bring Harry his food.

His request being denied feels as if it is the cruelest trick of all. Without the ability to write down what has happened to him, Harry is unable to defend himself. He can scream at the walls, but no one will hear him. No one will know his truth. He cannot explain to his loved ones what has happened to him. Louis, at least, witnessed what occurred and knows that Harry is not a traitor. But his family – they have no way of knowing. Harry prays that Louis has fled to Harry’s parents and that he will explain the truth to them. If Harry never leaves the Tower again, at least his family will know their son did not die a traitor.

Most of all, Harry thinks about Louis. He has hurt Louis time and time again over the past few months, and Harry knows that this decision must have hurt Louis most of all. Even though Harry chose him, doing so may have separated them forever. Doubt suffocates Harry, and he wonders if he made the right decision. Maybe it would have been better to be the king’s lover. He could have still remained committed in his heart to Louis, and as soon as the king tired of him, Harry and Louis could have been wed. They would be able to be together, even if Harry had gone back on his promise to Louis to never be with another. It would have been difficult, but maybe it would have been better. At least Harry wouldn’t be a traitor to the king.

But, in doing so, he would have betrayed the man he loves. Harry never wished to be disloyal to his king, but being disloyal to his betrothed was impossible.

Harry reminds himself over and over again that he has made the right decision, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way when Harry can see the executioner’s block on Tower Hill from his window.

“John,” Harry says one evening when his meal has been delivered.

“Yes, my lord?” John replies.

Harry has spent the day at his cell window, watching the city through the iron bars. He didn’t move from the spot for hours, even when his feet ached from the unforgiving and harsh stone floor. He slowly turns and looks at John. Harry learned a little bit about John at the palace, but he never really asked him too many personal questions. Now, as Harry looks at him, he wonders about John’s life. He wonders where John goes when he isn’t attending Harry. John’s life had been at the palace, and his world had been relocated too when Harry was arrested for treason. Harry wonders if John resents him for that. If John thinks he deserves his imprisonment. But since John always looks at him with sadness now, and Harry thinks instead John must pity him.

“Where are you from?” Harry asks quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve never asked.”

“Um.” John cocks his head, clearly not expecting the question. “Reading, my lord. Right on the edge of the North Downs.”

“Is your family still there?”

“Yes. My mother and three sisters.”

“Are they older or younger?”

“Two are older, one is younger. My eldest sister just had a baby in the spring. I haven’t met him yet, but my mother says he’s a beautiful boy.”

Harry smiles. He thinks of Gemma, and he wonders if she’ll ever have children. She has always been so good with them. He hopes that if she ever does, he will be able to meet them.

“Do you think you’ll go back to Reading when this is all over?”

John pauses, his eyes widening in surprise. “To be truthful, my lord, I haven’t thought of it. I suppose I will go wherever you wish.”

Harry’s eyes briefly shut in gratitude at John’s hopefulness. He can feel tears pricking behind his eyelids, but he doesn’t wish for them to spill over. “Thank you. If I don’t –” Harry can’t finish the sentence, but he knows John understands, “– Go see your family, even if it is only a short visit. Whether or not you return to Hampton Court to work, at least go see your family.”

John nods in understanding. “Yes, my lord. I will.”

“Very good.”

John bows his head and walks to the door. Before he leaves, he pauses, turning back towards Harry.

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

John clears his throat and squares his shoulders. The simple action makes Harry realize how young John is. They are probably close to the same age. Two men who grew up two different ways. One grew up in privilege, and one grew up serving those privileged. But only one of them is imprisoned.

“It may not be worth much, my lord,” John says, “but I wanted to tell you how awfully sorry I am that this has happened to you. I don’t know much about it, but you and Lord Tomlinson have always treated me kindly. I don’t think you have it in you to do anything treasonous, and I hope the king comes to realize that. I will do whatever I can to help so that you may be freed from this place.”

Harry feels another wave of tears spill over, but this time, they are of gratitude. After a week of isolation and doubt and fear, hearing such words of faith give Harry a flicker of hope that had been extinguished. “Thank you, John.”

John nods. “My lord.”

When John comes to help Harry dress in the morning two days later, his eyes are bright.

“My lord,” John says lowly as he helps Harry slip on his doublet. “I noticed that a seam has come a bit loose by your pocket when it came back from the washing yesterday. I think you may want to examine it.”

At first, Harry does not understand why John is telling him something so inconsequential, but the excitement in John’s eyes and the slight shake in his voice makes Harry’s eyes widen with understanding. His hand flies to his pocket, and he can feel a loose seam. When he presses his hand deeper, he can feel the rough edge of a piece of parchment.

John nods jerkily to Harry, grinning maniacally. Harry has no idea how none of the guards stopped John since his jitteriness makes him suspicious, but Harry doesn’t care.

“Thank you, John,” Harry says, his voice thick with gratitude. With his other hand, Harry grasps John’s arm in gratitude. He holds the paper firmly between his fingers, unwilling to let it go in case it was to disappear the moment he lets go. Gratitude washes over Harry so that his eyes prick with tears. John has provided him a way to communicate with his family, with Louis.

“If the loose seam troubles you, my lord,” John continues, “I can collect it from you tomorrow, and I will make sure to take care of it.”

Harry nods in understanding. He has a day to write his letter. To tell his truth.

“Thank you,” Harry repeats, all other words failing him.

John finishes dressing Harry in silence, and with a bow, he departs.

Once he is alone, Harry cautiously inspects the contents in his pocket. A folded piece of parchment, a broken quill, and a small pot of ink. Harry has no idea where John could have found these precious items, so he makes sure to conceal them carefully in case any guards pass by.

Now he has the tools to convey his story, but Harry struggles to find the words. This is his only chance to communicate with someone outside of the Tower. Harry wonders if he should write to the king and plead for mercy. If he apologizes and pledges himself to the king, maybe he will be released. But maybe writing to the king would only serve to anger him further. Each passing day that no one comes to pass sentence on him, Harry makes himself sick wondering if it means he is closer to freedom or death.

Harry should write to his family. He should explain that he does not regret his choice, but nevertheless ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness for the heartache he is causing them. Forgiveness for waiting until it was too late to make the right decision. He should tell them how much he loves them and how he thinks of them every day.

Harry thinks of Louis and how much he wishes he could say to him. As with his family, Harry wants to ask forgiveness and express his love, but Harry also feels that he owes Louis so much more than that. He has pledged his life to Louis, and at this point, Harry doesn’t know if his life will last out the week. If he is never to see Louis again, he wants Louis to have something from him. Something tangible that proves that until Harry’s last day, his heart belongs only to Louis Tomlinson.

John said that Louis has fled and that no one knows where he is. He doesn’t know if John would be able to get a letter to him, while it would be certain that he could get it to his family or the king.

Harry waits until the sun is low in the sky before writing his letter.

_Louis,_

_My love, forgive me. You are the only one I have ever loved, and I will regret until the end that I ever made you doubt that. I should have listened to you, but I was selfish and naïve. I was a child playing a game I did not understand, and I did not realize the risk was losing a lifetime with you. Please tell my mother, father, and Gemma that I love them. Tell them what happened – that their son is not a traitor, but angered the king for choosing to love truthfully. I do not know if I am ever to leave this place, but know that I have always loved you and only you._

_Forgive me._

_Harry_

He folds the letter carefully once the ink has dried. The small piece of paper is covered with words, his writing narrow and slanted to save space. He places the ink and quill back in his doublet pocket, but slips the piece of paper underneath his straw mattress. As he lays down for rest that night, Harry imagines that he can feel the piece of paper beneath him. It may not provide him freedom, but the idea of Louis someday holding it in his hands brings him a serenity he hasn’t felt in weeks.

That night, he sleeps peacefully.

The next day, John discreetly collects Harry’s note. He quietly assures Harry that it will find its intended party no matter what.

As John leaves with his only note to the outside world, Harry prays that it will find Louis safely.

With the letter no longer able to occupy him, Harry can do nothing but wait for his fate to be decided.

Several days later, Harry jars from sleep at the sound of his cell rattling open.

He sits up in bed, expecting John with his morning meal. When he sees who comes through the door instead, an overwhelmed sob escapes his lips.

Lady Anne rushes to Harry’s side, flinging her arms around him in a tight embrace. Harry crumbles against her, the weight of the blinding fear that has plagued his each moment for the past week suddenly too great of a burden to bear. The sight of a friendly and familiar face is the greatest imaginable comfort after the immobilizing uncertainty and doubt Harry has faced.

“Harry, oh Harry,” Lady Anne whispers, holding him close. “Oh, my darling friend.”

“Anne,” Harry replies hoarsely. He clings to her tightly, his hands fisted in the fabric of her dress. He doesn’t wish to let go, just in case she is a fever dream who is ready to disappear at the slightest doubt. “Anne, is it really you?”

“Yes,” she assures him fervently. Lady Anne pulls back from their embrace and places her hand on his damp cheek. “I have pleaded for your life, Harry, and the king has decided to spare you. You must come with me at once.”

“Spare me?” Harry asks, disbelieving. His head feels thick with fog, too shocked by the sight of his friend so that the meaning of her words confuse and baffle him.

“Yes. You are free now. You don’t have to stay here another moment.”

“What? How –?”

“I will tell you everything on our way north,” Lady Anne cuts him off. “Let’s go.”

Lady Anne stands from the bed and gestures towards the cell door, still open. The reality of her words set in as Harry looks at the open door, and he stands swiftly to his feet. His head swims at the abruptness of the motion, but Harry ignores it, too focused on leaving the Tower as quickly as possible before someone decides it’s a mistake. Before he is locked in his cell once again and the key is thrown into the Thames so that he lives the remainder of his days behind these walls.

“Is there anything in here you need to take with you?” Lady Anne asks, looking around the room.

“No,” Harry replies shortly, not sparing the cell a glance.

Lady Anne nods. Harry sways on his feet, unsteady with adrenaline and hunger. Lady Anne comes to his side and wraps an arm around his waist. “Lean on me,” she says.

Fear and uncertainty churn inside of Harry as he leans his weight on his friend. For Lady Anne to come to him like this doesn’t seem to be real. After almost two weeks of waiting, why today? How can he be certain this isn’t another one of his many dreams about being freed? But Harry doesn’t have time to answer those questions, and at the moment, he doesn’t care. He will not waver or stall at an opportunity for freedom. He will take it, and if it turns out to be another dream, then so be it.

Together, Harry and Lady Anne walk out of his cell. Harry does not look back; instead, he looks forward, seeking sunlight. The guards do not stop them as they pass; in fact, two go with them to lead the way.

As Harry steps outside for the first time in weeks, his legs buckle. The heat from the sun and the smell of the grass flood his senses. He wishes to press his face to the ground, to kiss the blades of grass and the humble dirt. He wishes to take off his shoes and run around like a child once again.

But the sight of a carriage waiting for them at the gate of the Tower is even more tempting. Harry doesn’t think he has ever seen a more beautiful sight than the carriage that will take him away from this terrible place.

At the front of the carriage, John stands, holding the door.

“John,” Harry gasps, reaching for him.

“My lord,” John says, grasping Harry’s arm. “We’re taking you home.”

A sob escapes Harry’s lips. Home. He’s going home after weeks of being in this strange city with its imprisoning walls. He will be home in the countryside with nothing around for miles but for the green hills that ask nothing of him. He never thought he would see home again, and yet here is a carriage ready to take him there.

Harry climbs inside with Lady Anne behind him. As soon as the door shuts, Harry hears the driver call to the horses, and the carriage jolts into motion. The movement of the carriage beneath him feels foreign – can it really be carrying him far from the Tower? Harry wills the carriage to move faster, for the horses to run as if in a race so that they can leave this city as quickly as possible.

Harry shuts the curtains over the window, blocking out the sunlight and the sights of the wooden city. He doesn’t wish to gaze upon it for another moment. He’ll open the curtains again when London is nothing but a blot on the horizon.

Lady Anne sits close to his side, her arm pressed against his. Her weight against him fills Harry with gratitude and disbelief and he turns to her and grips her hand.

“How did you do this?” Harry asks, amazed and full of incredulity. “How can I ever thank you?”

Lady Anne squeezes his hand back. “I am sorry that it took so long. You should have been freed immediately.” She chuckles dryly. “Well, you never should have been in there to begin with. I am so sorry that Henry did this to you, Harry.”

“It is not your doing.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t furious when I heard.”

“How did you find out?”

“Louis told me.”

At the mention of his betrothed, Harry feels his eyes well with tears once again. In all the chaos of leaving the Tower, Harry had not spared a thought for the man he loves. Harry immediately rectifies that.

“Oh my God, Louis. How is he? Is he well? God, I have been so worried about him. John told me he left court, but that he didn’t know where he went–”

“He is well,” Lady Anne assures him. “Well, not when I ran into him that day at the joust. He was crying and running around frantically, and when he saw me, he told me that the king had just arrested you. I could hardly believe it, but he insisted it was true. I went straight to the king and demanded an explanation. Immediately I could tell that he was just nursing a wounded ego, and I insisted that he free you at once. Of course, he didn’t like that very much. But I was persistent.”

“However did you persuade him?”

Lady Anne hesitates before she answers, “I explained to him how you have been such a faithful friend to me. I told him how you coming to Hever was what gave me the courage to come back to Hampton Court.”

Harry nods, surprised that something so simple could sway the king. “And Louis? He’s alright?”

“He is safe. He left court a day or two after. He tried to petition the king on your behalf, but the king refused to see him. I persuaded Louis to let me try instead.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I do.” She leans forward slightly, a grin on her face. “We’re on our way to see him now.”

Overwhelming happiness bursts from Harry and he slumps forward, wrapping himself around Lady Anne in a fervent embrace. “Thank you, thank you,” he cries, crippled with gratitude. “Anne, I owe you my life.”

“Hush, you owe me nothing,” Lady Anne replies, but she holds Harry tightly.

“I owe you everything.”

Lady Anne says nothing, but Harry can feel her smile against the top of his head.

“Rest,” she tells him eventually. “We have a full day’s journey ahead.”

Harry nods, but despite the advice, he cannot rest. He is too afraid to shut his eyes, lest something happen and his release ends up being just an elusive dream.

When they are outside of London, Harry opens the curtains and laughs with joy to see the green countryside. To see trees instead of buildings, and sheep instead of people. It is only when he sees the open country that Harry finally allows himself to hope that this freedom is real. That he is no longer a prisoner of the king who will seize him back into captivity at any moment. With each mile, he gets further and further away from the man who sought to imprison and possibly execute him.

Nevertheless, Harry shies from the window at each passing carriage. He hides in the shadows, fearful that each horse that passes carries someone sent from the king to arrest him once again. Someone who will tell him that his freedom was a mistake and that he is instead meant for the chopping block. Despite Harry’s fears, no one stops them. No other travelers spare them a glance.

They only stop once or twice so that the travelers can relieve themselves. When they do stop, they do so off the main road, hidden by trees and hills so that not even an unconcerned traveler could accidentally spot them. Lady Anne has a loaf of bread and cheese in her bag, and Harry eats greedily. Having become accustomed to such lavish meals at court, the poor portions at the Tower have made Harry scrawny and weak. As he eats what Lady Anne provided, his stomach bulges painfully with the extra food.

The sun eventually sets, casting the world around them into darkness. The darkness comforts Harry; it shields him. The darkness makes him a stranger, unfamiliar to anyone who might pass him by. The darkness makes him safe.

Eventually, however, the carriage arrives on the outskirts of a town called Uxbridge. The lights from a nearby tavern make Harry tense as they arrive at its doors. Quickly, it becomes apparent to Harry that this is where they are stopping for the night. But not only that.

“This is where I leave you,” Lady Anne gently tells Harry, pressing his hand.

“What – must you?” Harry says with panic in his voice, gripping Lady Anne’s hand tightly in an attempt to stop her.

The regret in her expression makes it clear that Lady Anne does not wish to leave him. “I am sorry, but I must,” Lady Anne insists quietly. “You will stay the night at the inn here, but I must go on. The road splits here. One road will take you north, to your home. The other will take me south,” Lady Anne hesitates, looking away. “To Hampton Court.”

“Surely you’re not going back?” Harry pleads. “After all that has happened? Surely you can’t return to the king?”

Lady Anne doesn’t reply, instead she keeps her eyes fixed on the ground. “I am sorry,” she says quietly.

“Come with me,” Harry attempts desperately. “Come to Cheshire with me. You will be welcome there. You can live at my family home with me, and you will be free to do whatever you wish. You have saved my life, Anne! Do not do this!”

“Oh, that I could,” Lady Anne replies fervently. “I would love to return home to Hever or to come with you to Cheshire. But it is not possible for me.”

“Why is it not possible?”

Lady Anne shakes her head, looking away with a pained expression. She does not answer.

Harry feels his heart shatter at his friend’s resolve. “I will not ask you. You have saved my life; I can repay you with this simple kindness. Of course it is not enough. I will spend the rest of my life repaying this debt.”

Lady Anne smiles weakly. “Thank you.”

Harry embraces Lady Anne, pulling her tightly into his arms. He holds his friend close, wishing that could be enough to keep her at his side and away from the king. Lady Anne holds him just as firmly, and Harry can feel her shaking slightly against him. As this is where they part, the fear that Harry will never see Lady Anne again sets in, and he begins to cry softly against her shoulder.

“You have been the truest of friends to me,” Harry says wetly, unable to break the embrace.

“And you to me,” Lady Anne replies, her voice breaking.

Eventually, they separate, wiping futilely at their damp cheeks.

As Lady Anne moves to get out of the carriage, panic overcomes Harry once again. “Are you sure the inn is safe?” Harry asks, halting her movements. “Does anyone know that I’m here?”

A smile quirks Lady Anne’s lips, and she reaches out to touch Harry’s cheek. “Only one person knows you are here, but I believe it’s exactly who you want to see.”

Harry inhales sharply with understanding. Lady Anne laughs joyfully at his expression.

“You are safe now, Harry,” she says softly. “You will always be safe.”

Without another word, Lady Anne climbs out of the carriage. Harry scrambles to follow her, watching as she quickly crosses the road to another waiting carriage. She casts a hasty glance around, her long hair swaying against her back.

A servant takes Lady Anne’s hand as he helps her step into the carriage. Harry wishes to cry out once again, to try to stop her, but the words are stuck in his throat. A part of him deep within understands that this is where their paths must separate.

Lady Anne looks over her shoulder one final time, meeting Harry’s eyes. No words come to his lips, no gesture of farewell moves him. Instead, he just watches as Lady Anne throws him her devilish and knowing smile that Harry has grown so accustomed to.

Then the door shuts and the carriage speeds away, disappearing over the blackened horizon.

Harry never sees Lady Anne again.

After the carriage is gone, Harry turns his attention to the brightly lit tavern behind him. His body trembles with anxiety and fear of stopping for the night. To not keep moving until he is safely back home in Cheshire. His body also trembles with the knowledge of who waits inside for him. Harry casts his eyes towards the lit windows for any sign of the person he thought he would never see again.

He finds himself moving woodenly towards the tavern. His legs ache with disuse, having sat cramped in the carriage for the whole of the day. Harry stumbles up the front steps, but a hand on his arm stops him before he can get to the door.

John stands at Harry’s side, holding a key in his hand. He presses the brass key to Harry’s palm and whispers, “The first room to the left on the second floor.”

Harry nods, unable to speak.

The tavern is warm and bright, but Harry keeps his face down. Even though his stomach rumbles with hunger, he does not linger. He doesn’t wish for anyone to see him. He doesn’t wish to speak to anyone. No one except the person on the first room to the left on the second floor.

Harry feels as if he is walking against an ocean current as he climbs upstairs, his hand tightly gripping the bannister for support. His legs seem as if they are to give out at any moment and let himself be carried away by the tide, but Harry resists the urge to crumble and keeps moving forward.

The room to the left looks like every other room on the hall, but Harry feels as if, in this moment, it is the most precious place in all of England.

He fits the key in the lock and with shaky hands, pushes the door open.

At the sight before him, Harry falls to his knees, his body shaking with sobs.

“Louis.”

Louis is at his side in an instant, colliding clumsily with Harry in a messy embrace. Harry grips Louis, his hands fisting in Louis’ clothing as he pulls him closer, ever closer. Louis’ nails cut into Harry’s back, and Harry relishes the bite because it is proof that this moment is undeniably real.

“Louis, Louis,” Harry sobs, pressing his face into his betrothed’s neck.

“Harry,” Louis replies, his voice equally wrecked with tears. “God, I can’t believe it.” Louis’ hands press against Harry’s damp cheeks, pulling him far enough back so that they meet eye to eye.

Louis looks just as thin and exhausted as Harry feels. Harry has never seen a more beautiful sight in all of his life. Tears pour down his cheeks at the overwhelming joy and relief he feels. Harry knows that neither of them have had a moment’s peace since Harry left the hunting lodge in Surrey. Ever since then, they have been racked with guilt and worry and paralyzing fear. That ends now.

Louis presses wet kisses to Harry’s cheeks, but he breaks away as he is overcome with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Harry cries into Louis’ shoulder, his mouth pressed against skin. “Louis, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush,” Louis insists fervently. “There is nothing to forgive. You are alive – my God, that is enough.”

Harry hiccups a sob, his entire body trembling with relief and gratitude and love. He pulls back enough to look at Louis, and he sees the same emotions reflected back in Louis’ eyes.

Their mouths come together in a messy bite of a kiss, both too overcome to worry about finesse. Harry presses Louis tightly against him – marveling at the weight of the man he loves against him. His hands tremble. All the nights Harry was alone in the Tower wondering if he would ever see Louis again, fearing that he would never hold him in his arms again, tell him that he loves him – it is forgotten. The fear and the uncertainty is forgotten. All that matters is that they are here – they are both here together – holding one another in their arms.

They kiss frantically, desperately, and all the weeks without the man he loves suddenly overwhelm Harry. The crippling loneliness and debilitating fear have paralyzed his body for weeks. Now, he is here with the love of his life, and suddenly, Harry wants everything. He wants nothing more than to feel Louis against him, to kiss him and love him in the way he deserves. It is a visceral need – as crucial to survival as breathing air.

Louis helps Harry up from the ground, their mouths never leaving one another. Harry doesn’t think he could remove his hands from Louis if all of the world depended on it. In that moment, for Harry, all of the world was in the feel of Louis’ skin and the weight of his body and the press of his kisses. They stumble towards the bed as they pull of their clothes, leaving nothing but skin underneath greedy hands.

Harry is hard in an instant, and he knows it won’t take much. The smell of Louis’ skin and the passion in his kisses flood Harry with a sense of joy and anticipation he hasn’t felt in weeks. His body feels too weak to hold back, and he knows that it’s only the adrenaline pumping through his veins that gives him enough strength to keep from falling immediately over the edge.

They don’t say a word, nothing but gasps and groans. After so long apart, Harry fears he will have forgotten how to bring Louis pleasure, but those fears fade the moment he feels Louis against him. He could never – not even if he spent a lifetime apart from Louis – forget exactly what makes his betrothed cry out in ecstasy. He could never forget how Louis likes to be kissed, to be touched. He knows Louis’ pleasures even better than he knows his own. Louis’ body is a part of him, and Harry was foolish to think that anything could ever drive them apart.

“I love you,” Harry gasps as Louis thrusts against him, their mouths close together and their hands clasped tightly.

A choked noise comes from Louis, and his hips stutter. “I love you, too,” he groans as he pushes deep inside of Harry so that his body finds release. Harry follows quickly with Louis’ hand tight against him, both of them lost in a fog of joyous satisfaction and relieved exhaustion.

Louis cleans them up, as Harry feels too weak to do anything but lie heavily against the bed. Louis kisses his neck gently as he curls up against Harry, their bodies touching from head to toe. Harry’s hand trails across Louis’ chest, his fingertips pressing lightly over his heartbeat. He can feel the quick beating underneath his fingers, his heart still not quite settled from their hurried lovemaking. Harry wonders if his own heart will ever settle. He feels as if it permanently lodged in his throat, banging unsteadily as if begging to be freed from its cage.

“I never should have left,” Harry says quietly. “I never should have come south at all, but I never should have left the hunting lodge. I shouldn’t have done that to you –”

Louis shakes his head, his hand gentle against Harry’s cheek. “It’s in the past.”

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong,” Harry argues weakly. He doesn’t have the strength for much discussion, but there are several things he wants to say before he succumbs to sleep. Apologizing to Louis is the main thing. “Please, I need to know that you forgive me. That you know how sorry I am.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Louis looks away shamefully. “If anything, you’re the one who should be angry at me. I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you. That I didn’t trust you the way you deserved. I feel as if I pushed you away – as if it’s all my fault.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to interrupt. “It isn’t.”

“But do you forgive me?” Louis asks anyways.

“Yes,” Harry nods, not hesitating for a moment.

Relief floods Louis’ expression, and he kisses Harry softly.

“It made me sick thinking of you in that horrible place.” Louis shudders, his voice thick with regret. “If anything, that felt like the cruelest injustice. Placing you in a prison for traitors.”

“It was horrible, but even though I was afraid, I knew that,” Harry swallows roughly, “if I were to die, it would be because I finally stood up for us. That I wasn’t going to let the king drive us apart.”

“You were so brave to do so,” Louis says. “It was in that moment when you confronted the king that I finally realized what I had been asking of you. And as he arrested you, I had never been so furious at myself in all my life. I kept thinking, ‘Well, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted him to stand up for your relationship and now he’s being arrested as a traitor! Well done!’” Louis laughs, slightly hysterically.

Harry can see guilt etched deep into Louis’ expression, and his heart aches for the man in his arms. “I don’t hold that against you. I know that is not what you wanted. Even though being arrested was what I feared, I don’t think either one of us really thought it was going to happen.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “I thought we were untouchable, somehow. I forgot that we are not the main players in our own story, but the side players in the king’s.”

Harry grips Louis’ hand with the little strength he has. “We are the main players in our story. The king cannot take our happy ending away from us. Even – even if I’d died in there, we still would have had a happy ending because you would be the one I had chosen. My heart would never have been lost to you.”

Louis kisses Harry deeply, their mouths pressed hard against one another. In that kiss, Harry feels all the unspoken apologies and promises of love between them. Nothing more needs to be said tonight.

But before Harry can sleep, he has one final question. “Louis, do you know how Lady Anne managed to convince the king to free me? She didn’t say when I asked.”

In an instant, Louis’ face darkens, deep lines reappearing in his face. Harry’s stomach sinks, fear immediately replacing the relief in his bones.

“She,” Louis sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “She hadn’t accepted the king’s proposal yet when you were arrested. She told me that she’d been looking for him at the joust to tell him, but she never got a chance because of the arrest. Once she found out what happened, she essentially told the king that she’d only marry him if you were freed. The king never knew she was originally intending to accept him, so he agreed.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Louis’ words sink in. He knew that Lady Anne was going to accept the king, but might she have changed her mind after the arrest? For the king to arrest one of her closest friends on a baseless charge might have given Lady Anne the reason she needed for refusing the proposal. Now it seems that it was exactly that which sealed her fate. A marriage to a tyrant in exchange for Harry’s freedom.

“She – she shouldn’t have done that,” Harry whispers fiercely, wiping at his eyes. Confused, he pulls himself up from the bed, wobbling on unsteady legs. He grabs at his clothes, but Louis is at his side, clutching his arm. “I can’t let her do that,” Harry sobs. “I can’t let her sacrifice herself like that for me. I have to stop her –”

Louis holds onto Harry’s arms tightly, and Harry futilely tries to shake him off, but he doesn’t have the strength.

“Harry, there’s nothing you can do,” Louis insists, his voice as hard as his grip. “She decided this for herself. You said it yourself – she was already going to marry the king. She just used it as a negotiation tactic.”

“She can’t marry him,” Harry repeats, feeling wild and desperate. “Louis, let me go. I have to stop her.”

Louis doesn’t let go, and as Harry struggles, he suddenly loses all remaining strength in his body and crumples pathetically against Louis. Sobs rack Harry’s body as Louis guides him back to the bed, laying him down on the mattress like a mother caring for a sick child.

“My darling, you have been through so much,” Louis soothes, wiping at Harry’s tears. “You need to rest, please. I can have some food brought up from the kitchen, but then you need to sleep. We are going to return up north and forget that this has ever happened.”

Harry shakes with sobs, but as he lays against the bed, he knows that Louis is right. There is nothing they can do to stop Lady Anne from marrying the king. She has made her decision, and the king has made his. After all that Harry has been through, he doesn’t ever wish to go against the King of England again. If the king is to marry Lady Anne, then that means he will have to seek an annulment from the Pope for his marriage to Queen Katherine. He cannot fathom that that will be granted easily, and Harry does not wish to be at the center of court ever again, especially while the king annuls his marriage.

But Louis is wrong about one thing – Harry will never forget what has happened to him. He will never forget the terrifying consequences when one challenges their king. He will never forget the wretched helplessness he felt as he was trapped in the Tower. But most of all, he will never forget Lady Anne’s faithful friendship and the incredibly selfless act she performed that saved Harry’s life and secured his future with the only man he will ever love.


	6. Epilogue

_London, England. 1559._

The harmonious voices of a young choir and the powerful tones of the organ fill the nave of Westminster Abbey. Nobles and royalty line the aisles in their finest apparel, as the procession makes their way to the front of the church. Everyone strains their necks for a glimpse of the young princess who is about to be crowned queen.

Harry and Louis are amongst the crowd, also watching the coronation procession and eagerly looking for Princess Elizabeth.

“Father, there she is!” Anna gasps, grabbing Harry’s arm.

“She’s beautiful,” John breathes, leaning around Louis for a look.

Princess Elizabeth moves regally down the aisle, her extravagant gown and robes trailing majestically behind her. The whole of the congregation stares in hypnotic awe at the princess, and Harry feels tears come to his eyes.

As if reading his mind, Louis leans to Harry’s side and whispers, “She looks just like her mother.”

Harry nods, his heart in his throat. “Yes, she does.”

Princess Elizabeth is beautiful, but he expected nothing less from the only daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.

Lady Anne became Queen Anne in 1533, seven years after Harry escaped Hampton Court. During that time, Harry had eagerly taken in every scrap of news he could about his friend. He followed with unparalleled interest as the king fought to break with Rome, as the church and the monarchy became more and more fractured.

The king never funded any expeditions to find the Northwest Passage like Harry and Louis had foolishly hoped in their youth. They both agreed that the king had been expressing an interest as a way of showing off for Harry. Although Harry was disappointed that Louis’ hope of being involved in a western expedition never could come to fruition, Louis always promised him that he would rather the expedition never happen than ever have to see the king again.

As time dragged on, Harry always hoped, always prayed, that Lady Anne might still be freed from an engagement and marriage that he knew would do her nothing but harm.

But then the king finally divorced Katherine, Lady Anne was crowned queen, and a child followed several months later.

When Princess Elizabeth was born, the bells rang throughout the kingdom. Toasts were made in taverns and celebrations were held in the streets. Harry and Louis drank a private toast to the princess’s health, but they were also celebrating their own new addition. Almost a year before the princess was born Anna joined their family, bearing the name of the Queen whom Harry would forever contribute his life to. Harry and Louis’ son, John – named after the other faithful friend who remained by Harry’s side at the Tower – was four years old when Anna was born.

Together, they lived a quiet life in Cheshire. Harry and Louis had married without fanfare as soon as they returned north. They made sure not to draw any attention to themselves the first few years they were back. They tended to their estates, working so that they could merge them into one estate that they would manage together. They waited until they were certain that they were safe before expanding their family, not willing to risk any harm befalling their children.

Harry and Louis didn’t maintain any contact with anyone at Hampton Court, but they did make exceptions for Niall and Liam. Niall visited the year after Harry’s and Louis’ marriage on his return trip to Ireland. He was making his way towards the ports of Liverpool, but stopped to visit his old friends.

“After everything that happened,” Niall had told them, “I didn’t want to be there anymore. We’re tired of negotiating with a king who has clearly shown how unreasonable and paranoid he is. I miss my family. I’m ready to go home.”

Harry and Louis had given him their blessing, and they wrote to Niall often. He did not come to England again, but they received note when Niall married and later had children. Likewise, Harry and Louis sent him announcements when their children came into the family.

Liam also returned to his home outside of Birmingham, and the close proximity meant that they were able to visit him more frequently. Anna and John were brought up knowing and loving Liam, and Harry was thankful that he didn’t have to cut ties with him just because of how they met at Hampton Court.

Harry only wrote to Lady Anne twice in the final ten years of her life. He always wrote in response to one of her letters, never initiating the contact.

The first letter that Harry received was four months after his return to Cheshire. It was brief, but Harry wept at the sight of his friend’s hand. She had asked if he was secure and safe and if he and Louis had wed. She instructed him to direct the letter to her lady-in-waiting under a false name, and that he should be assured it would be safe reaching him. Harry had assured her that he was safe and married. He pleaded again that she consider breaking off her engagement and coming north. She never responded.

The second letter that Harry received was seven years later – a month after Lady Anne’s wedding:

_Dearest Harry,_

_You must forgive me for not having written in so long. Even though it has been years since we have spoken, you have never been far from my thoughts._

_I wish for you to know that I am happy. I am married now, and even though it took longer than I ever expected, I truly believe that I am where God wants me to be. I am carrying a child – the future King of England! I sometimes can hardly breathe for the excitement I feel. This is what I am destined to do, and I never imagined that life could hold such joy._

_I pray that you and Louis have found such happiness. That is what I wish for you, my friend._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Anne_

It is now twenty-six years since Harry received that letter. And it is twenty-three years since Queen Anne’s life was taken from her.

The man who played with people’s lives like pawns in a game chose to mercilessly and forcefully remove Anne from the chess board. She was executed on a chopping block on the hill just outside the window of the room Harry once was imprisoned in.

The king took another wife, and another wife after that, and two more after that.

When the king died, Harry wept. He wept that he was finally freed from the fears that had haunted him for over twenty years. He wept that the man who caused so much death and destruction would cause no more.

The crown passed from one unsatisfactory monarch to another before it finally came to Princess Elizabeth.

Several months ago, Harry and Louis received the shock of their lives when a personal invitation from the Princess arrived inviting them to attend the coronation.

Attached was a note:

_My mother always spoke fondly of you both. I would be honored if you attended the coronation in her memory._

Harry and Louis never planned on returning south again. But for the coronation of their dear friend’s daughter, they made an exception.

Now, Harry stands in Westminster Abbey with his husband and their two children, not as former traitors of the crown, but on a personal invitation from the princess herself as a thank you for the friendship they showed her cruelly-treated mother.

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand, drawing his attention away from the service and to his beloved husband.

“Queen Anne would be so proud,” Louis whispers, his eyes filled with melancholic pride.

Harry’s chest burns fiercely as he thinks of Queen Anne. She believed her calling to be at the king’s side – as his wife and the mother of the future monarch. With Harry’s free hand, he reaches inside his pocket and lightly touches the folded piece of paper. It’s thirty years old, well-worn and creased, but Harry couldn’t imagine attending the coronation without it. It’s Queen Anne’s note to him from thirty years ago, assuring him of her happiness.

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “She would be so proud.”

Louis smiles, leaning forward to softly kiss Harry. Harry holds Louis for a moment longer than necessary, reminding himself that they wouldn’t be here together without Queen Anne.

Hand in hand, they watch as the Archbishop of Canterbury places the crown on Elizabeth’s head, and she swears the coronation oath to govern her people fairly.

Then the Archbishop of Canterbury turns to the congregation and calls out, “Do you accept Elizabeth as your queen?”

“Yes!” Harry cries out, his voice lost in the rumble of the congregation echoing the same affirmation.

As the queen sits on the throne, the crown on her head and the scepter in her hand, the church bells erupt in jubilant song.

Along with the congregation, Harry and Louis stand, hands tightly clasped together, and with voices as loud and euphoric as the bells, cry out, “Long live the Queen!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Tumblr: [casuallyhl](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/)


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